


Black And Yellow

by stars_fall_on



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Post 9X6, Smut, prison fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-09-16 12:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16953738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_fall_on/pseuds/stars_fall_on
Summary: After Ian is finally reunited with the love of his life in prison, they have to face a lot more than just Ian's inner demons.Or:The gaps that Shameless forgot to fill. Life in prison.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OMG! I'm back! Still can't believe I had time to write this, but I'm very excited about it!
> 
> I thought about a light and fluffy prison fic, but in the end THAT came out :D Guess prison isn't always light and fluffy, right? But I promise, I'll get to that point, even if you won't believe it first.
> 
> The first two sentences are dedicated to J_Q and Nicrenkel. Because I know you like it when he's here. With him. :D 
> 
> Also a big shoutout to the awesome @Nicrenkel for editing this story! *mwah* THANK YOU!
> 
> Now enjoy <3
> 
> \-------------------------------------
> 
> This story was translated to Russian from the wonderful and talented @liza1510  
> THANK YOU!
> 
> Here's the link:
> 
> https://ficbook.net/readfic/7772543

_He._  
  
He is here. With him. And it's not some sort of fucked up figment of his imagination his brain is torturing him with. No. It's him. In flesh and blood.  
  
Ian knows it's not some sort of cruel punishment coming from his fucking disease, since he got checked on his meds stability before he went in. He also knows it, because he _feels_ and _smells_ him, moving in their own created rhythm underneath him. Since he jumped above him, he can't stop kissing, touching and caressing his skin. He _knows_ it's him. It can only be _him_. It's _always_ only him.  
  
No one could spread the goosebumps across his skin but him. No one could make Ian feel as electrified and alive but him. No one's smell could make Ian's hair stand on end but his. No one could create this tingling and prickling feeling inside his guts but him. No one could get his dick rock hard within seconds but him. No one could let Ian feel love but him. It's always him. It always comes down to Mickey. Every goddamn second of every goddamn day.  
  
_Mickey_.  
  
His heart is galloping in his chest, his breathing coming out in sharp gasps between the kisses he steals from him. It's like a shock. Ian IS still in shock, his brain unable to catch up with how his life could make a 180 degree turn in less than a second. From having lost the love of his life for forever, to having the man he loves pinned down beneath him while his tongue explores every inch of his mouth on its own. His mind seems lost in a hazy fog, while his body just acts. And reacts. It has always been like that with Mickey. Give and take, provide and receive.  
  
As his mind slowly seeps into what it all means, triggering the need to cry out of sheer happiness and pain, his body doesn't allow it. He can't stop. It screams for more. _Fuck_ , Ian wants so much more. He wants to lose himself in him and never be found.  
  
Only now he registers the sobs he's emitting through the short pause of their kissings. Only now, he finds Mickey shifting uncomfortably underneath him, trying to get some room and air between them. Only now he understands, that the brunet tries to get him off him. Only now, he feels his heart shattering into millions of painful pieces.  
  
Before he processes everything that happens, he sits at the end of the bed, his hand wiping over his tearstrained face, his jaw tense. His look directed to the cold steel floor. Too ashamed to face the man he loves, after all he had done. Too afraid of what might come next.  
  
"Ian-- hey _Ian,_ look at me." His voice breaks through the heavy clouds that seem to engulf him and drag him down. After Ian's pupils follow another tear seeping into the thin mattress, his green eyes try to lock onto Mickey's careful gaze. "It's not that I don't want to," he states quietly. "It's _not_. It's just we have to be careful, okay? There's a big, fat window in the steel door, means every fucking asshole that wants to enjoy a show could watch. We have to wait until everyone is locked inside their cells and the lights are out."  
  
But why? Ian doesn't give a shit if anyone watches. And for Mickey it seemed to have been the same until a few seconds ago. Ian can't stop. His body is already longing to reach forward, pressing his chest against his and cradling his face in his hands. Caressing him. Touching him.  
  
"Sorry, I didn't think your first reaction to seeing me is to get right on me. Not after you left me at the border."  
  
_Ouch_. That cuts deep. It feels as if a sharp knife is making its way to the bottom of his heart in a slow motion, twisting and turning inside his muscles and flesh. He feels his jaw dropping, but doesn't hear a single sound coming from his mouth. How should he even respond to that? There's nothing he can say to take away all the pain he caused Mickey, so he buries this topic into a hidden corner of his soul until he has the strength to bring it up again, and to respond appropriately in a way that Mickey deserves. But that's not here and now.  
  
So he says the only thing that seems important to him at the moment. The only thing that makes his body and mind scream with longing and desperation: "I don't wanna stop kissing you," he spills, his voice broken and quiet at first, before he adds with more fierce, "I don't care, who sees us. I don't give a fucking shit if they know I'm gay. I just... I don't wanna stop. I.. I _can‘t_.“  
  
“Jesus Ian, you're shaking.“ Mickey's eyes snap to the window in the door, before his hands reach out to gently rub his shoulder. In an instant, the body of the former redhead responds to the touch, pressing his weight into Mickey's palms. “Ian, it's not about that they know you're gay.“ His look is intense, his blue eyes piercing right into Ian's emerald green's, making him attentive for what's Mickey about to say next. “Gay or not, if you're weak you have to bend over for them. That's what all men do. Even the straight ones. It‘s about not showing them your soft spot, the only thing they can hold against you all the time to make you their bitch.“ In the corner of his eyes, the newly black haired man notices shadows moving in front of their door. Immediately, Mickey draws back to bring a painful gap between them again. “Goddamn, I knew I was smart to move my ass here and protect you. Without me, you wouldn't get out of here alive.“  
  
A pulsing migrane spreads through Ian's head as he tries to understand fully the content of the brunet's words. “Soft spot? I don't understan-“  
  
“You.“ Mickey cuts him off, “You are my soft spot, Ian.“ Again, Ian's world starts spinning like a whirlwind and he only finds hold in the reassuring eyes he loves so much. They are always there, when Ian is in need. They never let him drown in his own sorrows. “And if they know this, they'll come after you to make me their bitch and vice versa. So we have to be careful, okay?“ Mickey pauses shortly as Ian feels himself nodding. He then goes on with his warnings. “Let them know that we fuck, okay, that's what everyone is doing in here. But don't let them know that we lov-“ the smaller man gasps, biting hard on his bottom lip, before he corrects his words, “that we care for each other. Not until we have some more allies behind our backs.“  
  
Reality hits Ian hard and he can feel tears making its way over his face again. This is not some sort of a romantic prison TV show. This is the brutal truth behind these stone walls. Yes, they _are_ back together (at least this is what Ian hopes for them), but they are still in prison. Locked together with more and less dangerous criminals.  
  
Ian doesn't know how to deal with the constant change of feelings. From the initial relief and love to guilt and fears. He is lost and just wants to crawl with Mickey inside his bottom bunk bed. To know that this is not currently possible feels like a death sentence.  
  
“Look, I already made friends in the eight days I've been here. Hulio and Jackson. We can trust them.“ Mickey explains, his voice much soother now as he tries to calm Ian through the distance. And he can always calm him down. It's what his presence alone is capable over. “When I found them kissing and fucking in the shower room, after the lights went out, I confided in them before they could beat the shit out of me. Their secret is safe with us, and our's with them. We have to look out for each other.“  
  
Ian nods, staring back down at the sheets underneath his bent legs, to let the words sink right in.  
  
“Ian, I need you to listen carefully to me right now, okay?“ That doesn't sound like the start of something Ian would like to hear. He would much rather celebrate the reunion with the love of his life appropriately. Would rather kiss, touch and caress Mickey, but that doesn't seem possible right now. He understands that Mickey just keeps him at arm's length for a certain reason (at least Ian hopes it's only about this certain reason). He sets specific rules so that they can weigh in safety. He creates a safe place for them for the next two years. Cause this is always the thing Mickey does: Keeping Ian save and alive.  
  
“Look at me, Ian.“ his voice cuts through the heavy silence of the room. “Here, in prison, I'm not Mickey Milkovich, okay? My name is Michael Malone, a drug dealer criminal from Southern Texas." _Michael Malone..._ the name burns into Ian's mind, even though it does nothing to him. It doesn't evoke a single feeling the name Mickey Milkovich could do to him. But Ian nods and accepts it, letting the brunet continue with his story, that Ian has to accept as a part of his new life. _Their_ life.  
  
As Mickey speaks, it sends several cold shivers down Ian's spine...  
  
After three weeks of searching, Mickey finally found a job as a mechanic in Oaxaca for fourty hours per week. There he met Alejandro Pérez, one of his colleagues. He immediately knew that this guy wasn't someone to mess with, which is why he tried to keep him at distance. However, Alejandro seemed to see something in his new working colleague and invited him for a beer after work over and over again. But Mickey said no, tried to explain, that his money wasn't enough for shit like this. He wondered how Alejandro could make ends meet with the minimum wage they earned in the shithole of the garage. It was clear he had to earn the money otherwise.  
  
But Alejandro didn't give in. He observed Mickey closely during the next few weeks, and made some remarks about Mickey's past that made the brunet suspicious. He noticed that Alejandro knew more about his old life as a Southside thug than Mickey liked to admit. Immediately, the brunet realized that behind the tattooed, muscular, tall but rather stupid man, a much larger fish had stuck. Therefore, it didn't surprise him when, two weeks later, Alejandro besetted Mickey again by suggesting a deal that could easily make Mickey more money.  
  
Alejandro worked for Héctor Fuentes, one of the biggest and most corrupt drug lords in southern Mexico from the Oaxaca cartels. He's always looking for new people, wanting to increase his inner circles to gain more and more money. After all, in his cartel, the employees are dying like the flies, murdered from rival gangs.  
  
Ian’s heart cringes at that. It could’ve been Mickey. His Mickey. Before going numb from the big wave of pain that shatters through him thinking about a scenario like that, Ian breathes in deeply and tries to follow along with Mickey’s story. But the next part pulls the rug out from under Ian, and he suffers through another heart break.  
  
Because the money was never enough to live a halfway decent life in Mexico, and Mickey also put it on him to send his son and ex wife some money monthly (even though the bitch was raking in cash), he finally gave in on the nagging and went with Alejandro on his first drug deal for Héctor. “After all, I didn’t have anything to lose, did I?“ Ian’s glossy green eyes scanned over the hurt blue ones and he had to swallow hard to fight the lump in his throat. All the aching thoughts flood him at once. Mickey was alone. In fucking Mexico. Not exactly the safest place on earth. He didn’t have his son, his crazy ex-wife, his sister or brothers; least of all Ian, cause Ian left him on his own at the border.  
  
God, how he hates himself. Now even more than ever, even though he didn't think it was possible.  
  
But before Ian can beat himself more about that, Mickey goes on, telling him about all the dangerous jobs he did with which he won Alejandro’s and Héctor’s trust more and more. Mickey hated what he did, he always wanted to get out as fast as possible, did never really want to join, to begin with. But he did it for Yev and his own life. And _Ian_.  
  
Yes, the idiot really followed a fucking drug-lord, to get Ian his money back. The money Ian gave him at the border to finally be free. And in reality it made him a prisoner again. Fucking irony, right?!  
  
But Mickey thought Ian would need the money back at some point in his life. For his meds. (Fucking bipolar. Ian’s disorder messed with Mickey’s life again.) It didn’t feel right for the brunet to have the money Ian earned. He felt he had more blood on his hands in regards to Ian’s health than he had from collecting money for the fucking asshole that was Héctor Fuentes.  
  
After a few months, however, Ian was suddenly all over the media. Gay Jesus even made it to teleSUR, the Mexican news channel. It was then that Mickey saw his chance. His one and only chance. He knew, Ian was going down; knew the American court system by fucking heart. He could calculate when and for how long Ian was going to make time. He also knew where.  
  
So he made a decision. A decision that either would kill him, or give him another chance with the love of his fucking life. Because for Mickey, it always came down to Ian. Even if the former redhead will never understand what he did to deserve the love of this wonderful human being.  
  
Mickey called the FBI. And he made a deal. Give and Take. That’s how the system works.  
  
At first they hesitated, tentative to let an ex-fugitive lead the way. But still, they wanted to catch Fuentes at any costs, without consideration for consequences and demands. A big fish like Héctor Fuentes would make the FBI famous overnight. And rich.

It’s always about the money.  
  
So they agreed to the deal. Mickey would turn the drug lord in and, in return, get to choose where he gets locked up. _And_ (and that’s the more important part for Ian) Mickey’s identity is protected and incorporated into the witness protection program.  
  
Mickey leaked the information about the location of the next cartel convention, which he attended as well, and was witness and initiator of the bloodbath that followed. Alejandro and sixteen other criminals died there, and Héctor Fuentes got locked up. Mickey got arrested, too, so as not to arouse suspicion. It bought him some time, though it was just a matter of time until the Oaxaca’s found out the truth.  
  
So while Héctor Fuentes was sent to Pelican Bay, one of the ten toughest prisons worldwide, where the most dangerous felons are caged in maximum-security isolation units, Mickey was traded into a different prison with guards on the take. He was, officially, killed right off the bat from planted prisoners of the Oaxaca’s.  
  
In reality, he wasn't.  
  
The guards of the prison where Mickey got locked on the record (but never really was) immediately spread the rumor among the right inmates that Mickey Milkovich was found dead in his cell. And it wasn't long before it perculated through the iron gratings to the outside, to the new big bosses of the Oaxaca's. Meanwhile, the real Mickey was taken as Michael Malone to this minimum-security prison, where petty criminals, but no hardened felons got stuck. Here, he waited for Ian.   
  
They have to be careful here, too, because it's still prison and the Oaxaca's have their soldiers almost everywhere. But their life in the MCC Chicago prison is far from risk between life and death. The deaths that occur here once or twice a year are mostly suicides. And to commit it is a privilege that doesn't exist in many high-security prisons.  
  
So yeah, their life in prison could be worse. _So much_ worse. They‘ve got each other (even only in small moments outside their room or when the lights are out.) But they‘ve _got_ each other. That is all both seem to care about.  
  
Yet, the shock of Mickey's story is deep. The 'what if' theories seem to burn into Ian's mind, spiralling over million ways he could've lost the love of his life. It makes Ian sick; so sick that he chokes on his own vomit.  
  
His bad condition doesn't go unnoticed by Mickey and after his blue eyes flicker briefly back to the window, his warm hands cup Ian's face. “Hey. We're safe here. You're safe here with me, okay? Don't worry, I got you.“  
  
The shaken man blows deeply through his nostrils, his jaw is set hard, as he tries to control his emotions. He doesn't want to think anymore, doesn't want his mind to wander to places where Mickey isn't. He wants to be here and now. Right there with him. He wants to feel and touch him, wants the brunet to ground him.  
  
Yeah, it's selfish to let Mickey soothe him again, after all he already did. It's finally his turn to take some weight off his lover's shoulder and let him breathe in his arms. But Ian‘s got his whole life ahead of him to be a good man for Mickey. He now just wants and needs him skin to skin.  
  
The former redhead slowly gets up and walks to the door, leaving a confused Mickey sitting on the bottom bunk bed. “Com'ere.“ he pleads, one hand streched out in Mickey's direction.  
  
Still not knowing what Ian has in mind, but probably trusting Ian with his whole life, he slowly walks up to him and let himself be pulled down on the floor. Right there under the window, with Ian's back pressed against the door and Mickey positioned in his lap, they let their noses have their mingling dance, before their lips are drawn together like magnets.   
  
Ian feels a wave of relief wash over him, as his tongue slips into the other man and he tastes the unique Mickey taste in his mouth. Ian knows right here and now, that they've found their new spot. The corner where they always can sneek to and not be spotted by someone from the outside. The place where they can just be Ian and Mickey for some breaks during the days.   
  
While their tongues explore their oral caves as if for the first time, Ian feels them both harden with the growing passion and Mickey's slight rocking in his lap. The younger man isn't thinking straight anymore, doesn't have a plan where this is headed, because right now it isn't able to head anywhere. But he lets his body act on his own. Lets his mind be consumed of _Mickey_ and lets his hands wander over the man he has missed so much.  
  
_Mickey, Mickey, Mickey,_ ...  
  
“ _Mickey_ ,“ he sighs, before he feels the lack of resistance behind his back and the door pulled open.   
  
In an instant, Mickey jumps off him and backs away and Ian gets to his feet before the door is completely opened. “Gallagher,“ one of the guards that brought him to his cell earlier begins, letting his eyes wander over their messed hair and bruised lips and probably putting two and two together at the moment, “Time for you to show up for your job. You, too, Malone.“  
  
The covered redhead nods, staring at the man that will now lead him away from Mickey. But that's okay. Because Ian knows that he's coming _home_ to him tonight again. Nothing and no one is going to stop him from cuddling and fucking the hell out of Mickey tonight.  
  
Absolutely no one.  
  
For the first time in years, he lets his body be filled with happiness and feels a smirk beginning to spread on his lips.  
  
“Lead the way.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked it, drop me a kudo and/or a comment below. Thank you :-*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things I absolutely have no idea about: cartels and life in prison. HEEY! Good I write a fic about, right?! :D
> 
> Whatever, enjoy this emotional chapter. It was tough to write.
> 
> <3

“So, Gallagher... while we try to figure out what to do with you, you‘ll work in the laundry,“ the small and not too grumpy guard, M. Dearing, said as he led him away from Mickey.  
  
Ian snorts a laugh. _What a cliche._    
  
Dearing seems to read his mind, because he jumps on his train of thought. “It's what all the newbies do, until we figure out their strengths. You'll have to go to an interview to Baker, the police chief, and then prove your skills in some different production facilities.“   
  
The former redhead raises a brow, confused. Again, Dearing seems to understand, probably having to explain this shit to every _newbie_. “Yeah, prison is no longer laying around and having not much to do but workout. Prisoners are working for industries for a minimum wage. You can earn yourself a bit of money in here and catch up on your graduation. It’s cheap labor, which sucks, but it's how it is. We work with many different companies, such as locksmiths, gardeners, programmers or mehanics. You probably already know that, since your roommate Malone is one of them.“  
  
Okay, scratch what Ian thought about not having a connection with this new name. In an instant, a prickling feeling spreads in Ian's gut at the mention of Mickey's new last name.   
  
A mechanic. Yeah, that fits. Mickey always knew how to make vehicles work, even without a fitting key.  
  
Maybe Mickey could teach Ian a bit more about cars in the next few days, so Ian could work for the same industry as him. At least Ian already knows how to hotwire one.  
  
He nods at Dearing, indicating that he got it and he can continue to explain.  
  
“Alright,“ the short man starts, turning around to walk him into the laundry room, where a few prisoners are already working, “Here are the heaps of dirty clothes. Separate the white from the coloreds and put them in here. The finished laundry goes in the dryer. Over there, you’ll find instructions on how to wash it. Finished laundry, you put together and set on this carriage. Got it?“  
  
Well.. it's laundry. Ian had to do it a lot at home. What's there not to get? Again he nods his agreement, before Dearing turns around. “Okay, so... try not to get in a fight. These two guards over there are always watching. You need something, you go to them. Do not go to the bathroom alone. Tell one of them and they'll lead you. Shift ends at five. Then you get meal. Everything clear?“  
   
  
   
  
Yep. Everything  _was_  clear. Except for the other prisoners who work here, and are getting on his nerves with their mocking comments and little pranks. Like throwing down the folded laundry so that Ian has to start all over again. Or ask him, with a mischievious grin, if the rumors are true and the carpet doesn't match the drapes.   
  
Ian just takes it silently. He knows he should hold his ground, or otherwise they’d never leave him alone. It’s just… Mickey’s words are running like an endless loop in his mind and he doesn’t wanna fuck up right away. Doesn’t wanna make the wrong person his enemy. First, he needs to get more specific information from Mickey, whom he can tell to fuck off without getting into trouble.  
  
So he just clenches his jaw and juts his chin, letting all the pathetic comments wash over him. “Do you think he’s mute? Or just dumb?“ P. Connor asks his colleague S. Warren, while they circle him with big hungry eyes and try to trap him. Even though Ian’s heartspeed increases, he tries not to show it, keeping himself unimpressed by their attempts to intimidate him. He knows they can’t harm him. Not here, where they are under observation. Ian’s eyes wander in the direction of the guards, who just watch the scene unfolding infront of them. Ian raises his brow, shooting them a look full of disbelief. They probably see things like that everyday, not impressed or bothered about it anymore. It’s the slight shake of Ian’s head, that leads to one of them finally speaking up, “Connor, Warren, back to your work!“  
  
One of them scoffs. Ian doesn’t know who, because he’s still not looking at them, maintaining a dsinterested front. “Think we’ll just have to wait until shower time then, Red.“  _Red_. It’s the first time Ian feels himself _really_ getting in rage. This is Mickey’s nickname for him.  _Mickey’s_. Not their’s. His Mickey’s.  
  
He bites hard on his inner cheeks to keep himself from throwing the first punch. Luckily, they back off and leave him alone for the rest of his work.  
  
   
  
  
His eyes are always looking back over his shoulder to the man who's standing three people behind him in the row. But Mickey raises a quick eyebrow at him, indicating that he should focus on what's in front of him, and not telling the other prisoners with his eyes, who Ian Gallagher would like to fuck. So he turns back around and watches a middle aged but angry looking woman slapping a dipper full of an unidentifiable porridge on his plate. "What's this?" he asks, but is met by her death glare.  
  
"Food," she answers unimpressed and bored, calling out "Next!"  to tell Ian quite clearly to fuck off.   
  
He takes a glass of water from the counter, puts it on his tray and steps out of the queue. His eyes observe the room for free places to sit, which are hard to be found. A chair here and there, but he wants two side by side. No way he is sitting without Mickey. He understands that people better not know they love each other, but they still can be friends, right? He feels Mickey's eyes on the back of his neck, and would love to turn around and ask him where he should go.  
  
He doesn't get that far, because suddenly there is a loud bang and his tray is smashed out of his hands. His eyes follow the slimy red porridge of vegetables and meat (at least Ian thinks it has vegetables and meat in it), which is now smeared on his clothes and painting the floor, before looking back up and meeting the evil eyes of the two bullies, who have already harassed him in the laundry. _Assholes_.  
  
Again, he only tries to give them his best unimpressed look, "You got a fucking problem, or what?"  
  
" _You_ ," Connor spits, "You are my fucking problem." The covered redhead keeps their eyes locked, knowing that when he breaks the gaze, he has lost. He hears laughter and sharp skirls in the background, chairs slipping and people approaching them. "You better get down on the floor and clean up the mess you made. _Oh,_ and when you're already on your knees, you're welcome to help me out with your filthy mou-"  
  
Suddenly Connor is out of his sight and pushed back until he hits the wall behind his back. "Get the fuck off him or I swear to god, I cut both of your dwarfish dicks off and shove them down your throats tonight.“ Mickey is on him like a bloodthirsty vampire. _Fuck_. The brunet told him not to arouse suspicion and only four hours later he has to jump right in between to help Ian out.  
  
" _Mick_ -" Shit. Fuck. Fuck. "MICHAEL!" he rushes forward and pulls on Mickey's shoulder, while scanning the room for guards. A fat one sits in the corner of the eating room, not bothered to interrupt the scene infront of him. The only thing he does is call out, "Malone! Get off him, or you won‘t have dinner tonight."  
  
But that doesn't seem to calm the heated brunet down. Connor pushed the wrong button in Mickey, and it lit a fire that has to burn something to the ground now. Luckily, Ian still knows this man better than anything, even after years. He steps closer to the furious man that keeps Connor trapped to the wall with his forearm pressed against his throat. The taller man is so close now, that he knows his heat is radiating off his body and engulfing Mickey. His fingers are still wrapped around his shoulder, his thumb drawing soft patterns into the thin layer of cotton. Ian breathes in deeply and lets the exhaling air fanning over the soft skin of Mickey's neck. "He's not worth it, Malone." Ian tries to let the new name come out naturally.  
  
It has to work. _Come on_. The guard stands up, beginning to walk in their direction. Nervous Ian takes another deep breath and exhales shakily next to Mickey's ear, while his finger dig more firm into his body. Within a second, Mickey backs off.  
  
The guard takes several steps back and plops on his seat again, while Connor grins triumphantly. " _Aahh_.. So you're fucking him, too, I guess?"   
  
_Him, too?!_ It feels like a punch in his guts and an ugly fire spreads from Ian's belly through his whole body, constricting his lungs and prevent him from breathing properly.  
  
"So Hulio's and Jackson's ass not enough for you anymore, huh? Eight days here and you’ve already got three bitches dickwhipped."  
  
Hulio and Jackson. Hulio and Jackson. He already knows the names. Hadn't Mickey told him about them earlier?  
  
Mickey takes a step closer to Connor again. "Yeah, and _you_ shouldn't start to get in my way, otherwise your little friend and you will soon have taken your last breaths, you hear me?!"   
  
Connor rolls his eyes, turning away to get back to his friend Warren. With one last quick glance at Ian, he hisses, "Damn, your ass must be really good, Red. Can't wait til Malone has enough of you, so I can stick it in."  
  
Before the sound of Connor's mocking grin has even died out, Mickey pushes him hard from behind over the nearby table. While the food spatters over the table and the other prisoners curse over it, Mickey grasps Connor's wrist, turns it behind his back and bends closely over him. The man trapped beneath him winces in pain. With his teeth clenched, the brunet whispers sharply in Connor's ear, "Don't you ever dare to call him that again. Got it?"  
  
"Ye- Yes!"   
  
Ian tugs at Mickey's arm, to get him off Connor, before the guard can make his way over. Suddenly, two other guys are next to Ian, shoving Mickey away from the asshole laying still sprawled out on the porridge of other men on the table. "MICHAEL! Let's go!"   
  
They pull him away and drag him to a table in the other corner of the room. Far away from Connor and Warren, who seem to leave without eating anyway. Ian's on their heels, astonished that Mickey lets himself be handled like this. He plops on the seat beside his man, the other two opposite of them, placing their tray of food in the middle.

"Here. Eat." The tall man with light blue eyes, shaved dark hair, dark skin and tattoos around his neck hands them both a spoon and begins to poke at his own in the food. Joining in was the other, smaller but not less built man, probably his friend, who has brown hair and green eyes. Ian can see his tattoos on his arms.  
  
"Thanks," Mickey mutters, tearing Ian's attention back at him. "Ian, that's Jackson and Hulio." He nods in the direction of the tall man with the darker skin and then to the smaller one with brown hair. "You can trust them. They have our backs, and we have theirs."  
  
Ian nods as Mickey pushes the spoon in his hand and prompts him to take a bite only with his piercing blue eyes staring at him. Ian does as he is told and shoves the disgusting food in his mouth.   
  
"You'll get used to it," Jackson says, as he sees Ian's not-so-thrilled face. "It's not a bon vivant, but it's food. And at some point you won't expect anymore from it than to sate you."  
  
"Hey, you okay?" Mickey whispers beside him, briefly bumping his shoulder against Ian's. "They bothered you before?"  
  
"Yeah. In the laundry," Ian answers, seeing Mickey tensing up, evoking his anger again. "But I got it, Mick." Shit. He called him Mick again. But the brunet doesn't seem bothered, since Mick could also be a nickname for Michael. "I could've handled it here, too. Thought you didn't want to attract attention?"  
  
Damn, he'd like to reach out and touch him. His fingers long for it.  
  
"I know you had it under control, Firecrotch," Mickey says, while chewing on his mouth full of whatever. "But I still have to prove myself here, too. And pissing on my territory and barking loudly at the same time hasn't harmed anybody, yet. Connor and Warren are idiots who have nothing to say around here. That's why they always go for the newbie's, hoping to make them submissive. They are little dogs here. The show I pulled was for some others, who should now know not to fuck with us."  
  
Approvingly, Ian raises an eyebrow at his lover. "You pulled a show for some other's, to make them realize who's the top dog, huh?" The now black dyed redhead puts the spoon in his mouth to suck on it and slowly pull it out again.   
  
It earns him a soft chuckle and impressed raised eyebrows. Damn, how he missed the dance they could make on Mickey's forehead.   
  
"Yeah, did it work?"  
  
Finally something light and warm spreads in Ian's body and he begins to relax. Even if the situation could be better, there's no place Ian would rather be. A confident smile blooms over his freckled face. “Gonna show you tonight, Mick."

 

 

  
  
He has him under him again. Finally. In a bed. It's not the most comfortable one (not at all), but it's a bed. Ian calls it progress.  
  
Though he doesn't complain about the sex on a blanket under the stars, or in the van, on the docks or a shitty toilet of a gas station one year ago, this is so more intimate. So much better. He feels safe, because Mickey is here, with him. And both are going nowhere. Couldn't, but also wouldn't. They are together which makes Ian freer than ever before. Isn't it ironic?  
  
Ian doesn't even hear the yelling of prisoner's in other cells. Or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. There's something much more important in front of (or underneath) him, that he couldn't care less what's happening outside the locked door. The lights are out and they can finally be Ian and Mickey. Mickey and Ian.   
  
Their pantings and heavy breathing are echoing off the walls, engulfing them in lustfilled noises they create in unity.   
  
“Mickey,“ the black haired ginger breathes for the umpteenth time, between their hot and heavy kissing. It's like a mantra that keeps him alive, finally being able to murmur, whisper, scream, say and pant his name again. “ _Mickey_.“ He can't get over the beautiful sound of his name.   
  
Even if he wants to take their makeout to the next level, his tongue doesn't seem able to disengage from Mickey's. His taste is just too good, his tongue so soft but at the same time demanding sliding against his. It's as if their mouths melt into one. As if they are exploring each other for the first time. Ian can't stop licking in his perfect heat, trying to fill him out while simultaneously withdrawing to let him in. Get him deeper. Let himself be filled with Mickey.  
  
God, _Mickey_...  
  
While he tries to understand how he could've spent years without this man, he lets his hands roam over Mickey's sides, feeling the built body trembling beneath his fingertips. The sweat is forming between their stomachs while they rub skin against skin. Moving ever so slightly to create the pleasant friction on their hard and leaking cocks.   
  
Ian will never have an answer to that. Will never be able to fully understand how he could let Mickey cross the border alone. Even though he _knows_ why, he still doesn't get it. If Mickey wouldn't have done this for him, he would be alone in here. Without him.  
  
A desperate sigh slips through his lips at the realization that now seems to sink in with every move of their hips. The act so bittersweet and painful.  
  
Before Mickey could notice the tear that slides down Ian's cheek, he finally tears his already swollen mouth off him and nibbles from his earlobe, over his jaw to his neck, where he nuzzles his face. Taking a deep breath, he smells the distinctive Mickey smell, and feels another built wall break inside of him. He could've spent his life without ever smelling him again.  
  
A brutal wave of disgust crashes over him. What did he do?  
  
He kisses further down his lover's body, trying to shift his thoughts to a dark corner of his brain, just wanting to focus on this moment here with Mickey. “ _Mickey_ ,“ he whispers again, hoping his name would bring him back to reality. But as the brunet sighs full of delight and need and moves so frantically and painfully hard against him, Ian feels another crack inside of him.   
  
It took him years to build up the walls that forced him to live halfway content (not happy) without Mickey. And now, with every kiss, every move, every trembling and every sound, Mickey tears it down. Making him finally realize the extent of his decisions, to not visit him in prison and not follow him across the border.  
  
_His_ choices brought them apart. _Mickey‘s_ always brings them back together.  
  
Another tear drops from his cheek down to Mickey's chest. That's when he sees it again for the first time after years. The tattoo. The name "Ian" still visible, but much harder for others to notice, since it's incorporated in geometric shapes that make up the head of a fox. A red fox. His last name is painted over with its body. "It's still there," he whispers, tracing his name with his fingertips, while he does everything not to cry.  
  
"Always was. Always will be." Mickey answers, aching against him for friction. "You'll always be there, Ian." Mickey declares, running his hand over the spot above his heart, where the tattoo is painted.   
  
It's painful. So painful to hear, that Ian can only nod once shortly and move further down to the waistband of Mickey's underwear. He hovers above the wet spot on the fabric, pretends it to be precum, not his tears that makes his boxers wetter than they already are.  
  
That was the past. This is now. And now he wants Mickey. God, he wants him so bad...  
  
He pulls the fabric down over Mickey's legs, until the brunet is free and spreads his legs as an invatation for Ian. Quickly the younger man wipes his eyes dry and looks up at his inmate, locking desperate blue with guilty green. Mickey is propped on his elbows, watching him with half closed lids to finally make a move. Prompting him to do it. Give them both the release they so desperately need.   
  
But Ian loses himself in the ocean that are his eyes. For a moment they just stare and breathe. A moment they finally can take for themselves without rushing. Until the blue eyes almost scream “ _Please_ ,“ and Ian is taken back to reality.  
  
He sinks down Mickey's length, hearing an almost inaudible “ _Fuck_ “ slipping through his lover's parted lips. He sucks him slow. So slow and vulnerable, that it feels like dying a thousand deaths at the same time. The most beautiful death he could dream of.  
  
He wants the taste of Mickey to stay. Wants it never to fade away. He tastes so wonderful. Feels so magnificent and heavy on his tongue. Up and down he bobs his head in dreadful tardy motions, sucking on the head every time he reaches it. Letting his tongue slide along the slit and play with Mickey's drops of lust that linger there. He feels his man coming apart, panting his name over and over.  
  
It causes another wall breaking inside of Ian, making him feel another wave of pain over what could've been if Mickey wouldn't have saved the situation.  
  
Before he starts sobbing around the brunet's dick, he gets himself back to reality with deep throating him, letting his cock hit the back of his throat repeatedly. He lets Mickey take the lead, lets his fingers thread hard into the former red locks and fuck upwards inside his mouth and down his throat. Mickey increases the pace, since he seemingly can't handle the slow burn anymore.   
  
And it's okay. It gets faster and heavier and Ian hopes it would get more brutal, too. Cause that's what he deserves for ruining both of their lives.  
  
He's so tense, so electrified that he has him in his mouth, and his legs wrapped around his shoulders, that he doesn't dare to touch his own neglected, throbbing cock. He would probably shoot his load instantly. But Mickey deserves more. He deserves _so_ much more. More than Ian... Ian doesn't deserve him.  
  
When Mickey thrusts up, Ian slams his mouth back down, to feel the sting in his throat and forget the pain in his heart. It's so fucking good. And the way Mickey aches against him, rolling his hips into Ian's mouth, makes the younger man almost burst with happiness.  
  
A happiness he doesn't deserve. A happiness that wouldn't exist without Mickey. A happiness he is afraid to fuck up and lose again.   
  
“ _Ian_ ,“ Mickey pants completely wrecked and out of breath, tugging at his short hair for attention, “Come on. _Please_.“  
  
God, the way he says his name sounds like symphony in his ears. How he missed that sound. He feels his heart getting even more heavier, since another wall seems to have broken down. There's only a thin layer protecting his heart anymore, and Ian already feels how he's letting this guard down, too. He just doesn't know what's going to happen then. Exploding? Breaking down? Dying from sheer pain and shame?   
  
It doesn't matter, however, since Mickey calls out for him again, reaches out and pulls him back up. He caresses his face and pleads for him to get on with it, while Ian closes his eyes and lays his whole weight inside his warm palms. Feeling the sparkle from the touch reaching every single nerve of his body. He swallows the lump in his throat.  
  
“I-I-“ Ian begins to stutter, opening his lids again, only to find a blurred version of Mickey through his glassy green eyes. He immediately leans forward and crashes their lips together. _Distraction_. “I haven't prepped you yet,“ he whispers against his pillowy lips.   
  
“Don't want you to. Need to feel you stretching me.“  
  
“Fuck.“ It already sounds like a cry out of Ian's mouth. He can't help the instinct to move against Mickey overcoming his body, feeling goosebumps spread all over his burning skin. This sex with Mickey is going to kill him. He'll burn alive, he can already feel it. “It's going to hurt, Mick.“ he warns, while their rock hard and leaking dicks gifts them with fulfilling friction. Both can't stop the moans rolling from their lips.  
  
"I don't care. I want it." Mickey pants into Ian's mouth, who tries to absorb every breath the older man gives him. Ian groans, Mickey's despair turning him on and tearing him apart. The former redhead has already hurt him so often in so many ways. He really doesn't want to hurt him anymore. “Mick,“ he tries, but is cut off from his needy lover.  
  
“ _Ian_!“  
  
Okay. Ian nods, both of their bodies trembling with anticipation against each other. The taller man supports himself with one hand beside Mickey's head, laying flat against him, while he guides the other to his mouth and spits into it. If they don't have lube and Ian isn't allowed to prepare him, then he'd at least use spit. He smears the warm salvia around his cock, the touch almost enough to make him explode. How is he supposed to survive this?  
  
But Mickey moans so indigent beneath him just from feeling and watching Ian tracing his cock up and down his crack, that Ian knows he has no time left. Both couldn't go another second without being connected. Without feeling each other in the most wonderful and painful way that exists.   
  
So Ian closes his eyes, preparing himself innerly to what is about to come. He'll finally be reunited completely with the love of his life. He'll be able to feel, what he thought would be denied him a lifetime.  
  
"I love you," he whispers and pushes in. Slowly, but in one go. It's so tight and warm and perfect, the heat around his cock. Ian feels himself losing it. And that's when it happens. The last wall that engulfed his heart shatters down, pulling the rug out from under him, laying him bare and vulnerable on top of Mickey. He can't help it. He comes. Long. Hard. And so fucking desperate. It doesn't even feel good. He only perceives the pain crashing over him. The pain, he caused a long time ago. The pain, he put behind stone walls. The pain, he didn't let himself feel for years.  
  
But that's the thing with Mickey: Mickey always makes him feel something. It's always been like that. “I'm sorry,“ he cries, “I'm so, so sorry.“ He is completely frozen. Lying still on top of Mickey, while his dick shoots his load inside his love. His only movements come from the shaking of his aftershocks while he sobs into Mickey's neck. It's not a quiet cry. It's loud and ugly and desperate. "Forgive me." he begs, the only thing his brain is able to proceed, "Please, forgive me."  
  
“Ian.  _Hey_ ,  _Ian_. It's okay," the brunet soothes him, while holding him tightly in his arms, " _Shhh_.."   
  
Ian feels Mickey's fingers tracing up and down his spine, trying to calm him. Ground him. But Ian can't help it, can't stop the crying that needed to be done since 2015, when Mickey got locked up. The tears stream down his cheeks, into Mickey's neck and on his shoulders, his ugly sobs and sighs bouncing off the walls. Mickey embraces him tightly, tries to pull him as close as possible against his body.   
  
That's when Ian realizes that Mickey's still hard against him. Not as rock hard as before, but still hard. " _Fuck_ ," he hisses, he can't even do _that_ right. So while still whining like a baby in Mickey's arms, his hips start rolling again, wanting to give his lover the release he deserves.  
  
“Ian," Mickey's hands reach to his neck, into his hair, pulling slightly, "Stop." But Ian doesn't. He needs to get him off. Needs to make him cum like he wanted. " _Stop_.“ Mickey warns, cupping Ian's wet face in both of his hands and forcing him to lock their eyes.  
  
“But you didn-“ Ian pants raggedly. Completely agitated by the emotion that just crashed over him, the pain, he feels deep into his bones, the orgasm he couldn't prevent. He still thrusts haphazardly.  
  
“That's not important, okay? Stop. _Please_." His piercing blue eyes shine glassy with pain. Again, Ian made him feel this ugly feeling.    
  
He stops. Glancing for about ten more seconds into the eyes he loves the most. Before crashing on top of Mickey and breaking down completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh... sorry?! Or not sorry? Idk.   
> Bear with me, though. It gets better ;)
> 
> Thank you for leaving kudos and comments. I really appreciate them <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my explanation for why Ian acted the way he acted from s5 to s9. You can't tell me otherwise ;)
> 
> Also: splitted the chapter in two, because I felt like this had to stand alone. That's why it's a shorter one. 
> 
> Enjoy and oh... Merry, merry christmas *mwah*

He probably fell asleep on Mickey, completely exhausted from his breakdown. He doesn‘t know how long he cried, and has no idea how many minutes or hours Mickey caressed his back and told him that everything is okay. Because for Ian, nothing was okay.

Their renewed reunion allowed Ian to finally feel what he almost had lost forever. And it hurts. It hurts so fucking much. Combined with the guilt he has towards his lover, it literally pulled the rug out from under Ian. To be back in Mickey, to feel him completely below and engulfing him was just too much in that moment. Mickey let him feel love again, and that shattered every stone wall Ian built up to be able to handle his life without the man he always loved.

_What did he do? How could he do that to the both of them?_ Those were the only two questions he asked during his howling, trembling in Mickey’s strong arms. The brunet told him many times that it was okay, that the only thing that matters is that they‘re together _now_.

But it only helped partially. The burden Ian felt was just too big. And he needs to get rid of it as fast as possible. He wants to be a _man_ for Mickey. Wants to be as strong for him, as he’s always been for Ian.

Crying has at least taken the biggest pent-up pressure off of him and let him physically exhaust. But a big chunk of pain still sticks in his heart that needs to be ripped off. There are so many things Ian needs to say. So many things Mickey deserves to know. They need to talk. _Now_. Because Ian can no longer deal with the guilt that he let Mickey cross the border alone, without any explanation of as to why. He can hardly bear that Mickey has probably questioned Ian‘s love thousands of times over the last few years. It almost bursts his heart at the thought that maybe Mickey believed he wasn‘t worthy enough for Ian to leave everything behind and be with him. Because in truth, it was the exact opposite that lead to Ian’s decision.

Lifting his head from Mickey’s ribcage and shifting a little beside his man, Ian comes back to full consciousness. He has no idea what time it is, but it’s still dark and quiet outside. Even the screams from other prisoners have stopped. It’s probably nighttime, and he’ll probably hate himself for not getting back to sleep the next morning, but he has to do this. For him, but mostly for Mickey.

“Mick?“ he whispers softly in his ear, kissing the spot underneath it, “you awake?“

The smaller man’s breathing gets a little faster, as he stretches his legs and pulls himself from sleep to reality. “Am now,“ he mumbles drowsy, his hand, which never left Ian's shoulder during the whole sleep, pulls him closer to him. Mickey's pleasant body heat envelops Ian, allowing him almost to fall back asleep at the wonderful feeling. But _no._ He has other things in mind.

“I need to talk to you,“ he explains the reason for this nocturnal break.

“Talk?“ Mickey grumbles half asleep, the beauty of his eyes still hidden beneath closed lids. “I‘d appreciate it if you‘d wake me up to actually fuck me. But talking? Really, Gallagher?“

Ian chuckles, while Mickey loosens his grip around his shoulder, turns around and wraps up in his sheet to get back to sleep. Ian nudges his nose in the back of Mickey’s neck and kisses him there. “It’s important,“ he whispers.

He hears Mickey sigh before the brunet speaks up again, "It's always important with you, isn‘t it?" He turns back around and even in the dark Ian can see the sparkling of the baby blue eyes that stare at him deeply. "Okay. What’s up?“

"I love you,“ Ian says matter of factly, "Every goddamn second of every goddamn day. And never less.“ He pauses shortly to look at the astonished man that faces him. Chest to chest, Ian feels the brunet’s heartbeat beginning to speed up. Mickey knitts his brows in confusion causing the former redhead to wonder about his reasons. Does he just not understand if he was woken up only for Ian to confess his love, or doesn’t he believe him? If latter, he has to change it immediately. "My love for you was rather increasing, even if you may not believe me. But it was. It was just not always obvious, but it was always there.“ Ian sees Mickey swallowing hard, closing his eyes and drowning in Ian’s words. The taller man takes Mickey’s hand in his own and guides it to the spot where his heart beats wildly underneath his warm skin. "I always loved you, Mick,“ he whispers and then stays quiet to let the words sink in. Mickey deserves it.

Suddenly his other hand is taken from around Mickey’s hip and placed on the brunet’s chest, where the red fox is tattooed. And so they lie there. Hands on each other’s hands, on each other’s hearts, letting seconds, probably even minutes pass.

"Why?“ is the question that suddenly breaks through their comforting silence. Ian doesn’t need to ask to what Mickey refers exactly. He knows it.

" _Because_ I loved you. _Love_ you.“

Ian notices the growing bafflement in his lover’s eyes, trying to explain himself better. "Because I already suffered through a childhood with bipolar disorder, only that it wasn’t my own back then. But I learned it the hard way how painful this disease is for the ones you love.“

Mickey doesn’t say a thing, but Ian knows he’s struggling for words. The bipolar is a complex topic for the both of them. And since Ian broke up with Mickey, because the only _fault_ of the smaller man was that he cared _too much_ about his boyfriend’s health (yes, Ian was a fool!) _,_ the former redhead knows that Mickey tries to keep it low now. Back when Ian traveled with Mickey to the Mexican boarder, the fugitive only asked him once about his condition. A succint _"You okay?“_ in a moment where there was only silence engulfing them, and Ian knew straight away what he meant.

So it's not surprising that Mickey remains silent and waits for Ian to continue with his explanations, getting to the point of the whole conversation. "Lip, Debbie, Fiona, Carl, Liam. Just like me, they've been through so much just because of a small disruption in our DNA. First it was about Monica, then it became about me.“ Ian has to break the eyecontact. It’s still hard for him to talk about these old days.

"Think I didn‘t know how to interpret every one of your and their looks when the disease was diagnosed? _Pity, despair, guilt, helplessness, shame_. I felt it as a small child for my mother and I couldn‘t stand the thought of now being the cause of these feelings myself. Especially not when it’s affecting the people I love.“ Ian gathers all his courage and looks back in the blue eyes, that are now enwrapped in pain. But he needs to do this. Needs to finally give him the first answer, Mickey deserves. "That was the reason I broke up with you.“ he says, his frustration about himself still thick and clear in his voice. Mickey just takes it silently, his adam apple bobbing slowly from his hard swallow. "I didn‘t want to put you in this situation where you inevitably would‘ve come.“

Ian licks his lips as they part again, his brow creasing in thought about how to explain it better. "I tried to protect you, but my love just put you behind bars. I was even more ashamed, then.“

Mickey closes his eyes at Ian’s exposure. Maybe he already knew it. Maybe he just guessed. But in the end it doesn’t matter, because Ian had never said it out loud. So that’s what finally needs to be done to get their relationship to the next level, what hopefully could be happiness. With the slight touch of his left hand against Mickey’s cheek, the latter one opens his eyes again, breathing heavily through his nostrils. It’s the moment Ian forces himself to go on. "If I hadn‘t been so selfish at the time we started to fool around, convincing you that we belonged together; If I just would‘ve left you alone, like you wanted it in first place, then you would‘ve never fallen in love with me and you wouldn’t have had a reason to knock Sammi out. It was my fault. Everything was my fault.“

" _Ian,_ “ not more than a sigh breaks through the heaviness of Ian’s words. But it’s there. And it’s audible.

But Ian doesn’t want to be soothed again. Doesn’t want to hear what Mickey is about to say, since he knows _exactly_ what his lover would tell him. And that’s the brutality that rips Ian’s heart apart, over and over again. _That it was worth it. And that he would do it all again, just to be with Ian._

"No, let me finish,“ he begs, trying to sort out the words he wants to say next. The words Mickey should finally hear after years. "I tried to get over you. Tried to stay away from you so _you_ could get over _me_ , since it seemed I was toxic for you.“ Ian reveals, giving his head a shake, "Yeah, there was also the selfish reason, that I couldn’t stand seeing you behind the glass. Couldn’t stand what I did to you. So I put you in the corner of my mind. At least I attempted it.“ The covered redhead explains, just before he lets slip a scoff through his dry lips. He huffs a bitter chuckle at the thought of what he’s about to say next. "Tried to replace you with other men. Thought I could keep you safe, when I didn’t approach you anymore.“

Mickey presses his lips together, his baby blues shiny from the painful tears that are swelling up. Ian knows how hard this must be for Mickey to hear. But it isn‘t easy for him either to talk about this terrible part of his life. He scoffs at the memory. "But guess what? In fact, I could get my mind distracted. But I could never fool my heart.“ He lets the truth just linger a bit between the both shaky men, before continuing, "It always belonged to you, Mick. _Always._ “ A small smile blooms across Ian’s freckled face. To finally be able to give Mickey the truth is satisfying him in so many ways.

But then the rough disillusionment spreads through Ian’s body, the consequences of this breakup has left a bitter smack in his mouth. "That’s why I was living through a hollow life. I felt empty. I denied myself the only feeling that I knew would fill me. Living became a rolling through motions.“

Ian curls the tongue behind his lip, confessing the next brutal part, “I tried to fill the gap you have left with other boyfriends, but it was more annoying than satisfying in many ways.“ Mickey is completely focused, his eyes breaking through the darkness of the room, concentrating on Ian. Even if it probably twists and turns in his guts.   
  
Unable to look away from his pained face that still lays beneath Ian's fingertips, the tall man continues, “When you broke out of prison and came to find me, the hidden love I felt for you suddenly filled my whole body with fire and energy again. I was overwhelmed. I couldn't think straight anymore. I just wanted to _have_ you. _Be_ with you.“ The confession draws an ironic laugh out of Mickey's mouth, which Ian immediately feels ashamed of. Of course Mickey doesn't believe him. How could he, after all Ian did?! But it was nothing but the truth. Ian lays himself bare. He never did that before. But it's what he needs to do to be able to start all over with Mickey again.  
  
“The boyfriend I had back then was forgotten the same minute I heard you breathing over the phone.“ he admits. “So I came to you and went with you all the way to the border. I wanted it, Mick. Always wanted to be with you.“ He hopes so much that Mickey believes him. That he knows deep inside that Ian never doubted that they were meant for each other. The brunet creases his brow just a bit, before his deep blue eyes peer back to meet green one’s. That’s when Ian continues, “Reality only creeped back in when I got phone calls from Trevor and Lip. Suddenly, it was like seeing myself from far away, outside my body, judging my actions. It was as if my _real_ , odd life had called to bring me back. Because being with you was just too good to be true. Of course it could‘ve only lasted two days.“  
  
Ian chews on his lips as he realizes Mickey‘s closing his eyes again. It’s hard to listen. But for Ian it’s harder to confess all his wrong decisions, knowing the tremendous pain it caused them. “They were asking where I've been. Were looking for me.“ he goes on, letting his thumb travel along Mickey’s closed lids to his eyebrows, tracing them. “It reminded me so much of the earlier times Monica ran off. We searched for her a whole week, scanned every alley and hidden spot, afraid we might find her dead.“ He gulps hard at the thought of that, “We were kids. We didn't think it was possible for a mother to leave her kids and husband behind.“ His thumb runs along Mickey’s tense jaw, to the perfect pillowy lips Ian would like to kiss. “But she did. And the more often it happened, the less we looked. We had learned our lesson. Even though it hurt every goddamn time to lose her again.“  
  
While his finger runs softly over his lover’s mouth, Mickey’s eyes are back open, staring right through Ian’s pain. Without doing much he’s making the hurtful memory even less hurtful, just with his being. The covered redhead takes a deep breath, keeping their eyes locked as he admits, “I couldn't do this to my family, Mick. No matter how much I wanted to be with you, the desire to not be a second Monica for my family was stronger.“   
  
Ian thinks he feels a slight nod coming from Mickey, hopeful that he might understand his crazy stubborness about his disease. His palms are cupping Mickey’s cheeks again. “While we were on the road, I thought about all the things I had built for myself in the last few years: I was stable on my meds, I took 'em every day. I worked in a job I loved, earned money I could fill the squirrel fund with. I had a relationship; yeah, it was boring as shit, but at least it was steady, right?“ 

What a dumb question. As if Mickey would agree to that. Ian gets quiet for a moment and his eyes move away from Mickey to trail over the brunet’s shoulders through the darkness of the room, back onto his love, hesitating if he wants to speak any further. “I did all these things better than her. Running away, even if it's with the love of my life, with the one and only person that could make me _feel_ love and alive, would ruin this in one second, I guessed.

My family would think it was a manic decision, even if it wasn't.“ The dark haired man remained silent. At least he lets Ian touch him. So the former redhead snuggles closer to him, presses chest against chest, nose to nose. He breathes him in, holding him inside. It gives him the strength to continue, “I thought about going back home and make my leaving right. Quit my job, search for a new one in Mexico. Get my meds on receipt and search for a mental health care in the proximity of wherever you are.“   
  
Suddenly Mickey looks calmer, his face seeming to soften just a little bit at the confession, that _indeed_ Ian wanted to come. The taller man gives him a few moments to breathe, to recover from bleeding through their whole staggering lovestory, letting their noses have a quick mingling dance.  Closing his eyes and letting the past wash over him, he adds, “But then I thought about all the things I'd put you into again, when I’m manic or depressed. And unfortunately it‘s not a fucked up ‘what if‘ scenario. It is what it is,“ he says with a slight shrug. He’s done with pretending. “I'm getting manic or depressed every once in a while. And it wasn’t about not believing that you could help, because in fact, you probably would be the only person able to help. _You_ would be so much _better_ for me in these hard times than anyone else. But it was about knowing that _you_ ’d have to face this situation _alone_.“ They are so close to each other, that Ian can feel the sharp intake of breath Mickey is inhaling, his hands still clinging to Mickey’s soft cheeks. He pecks a quick acknowledging kiss on the tip of Mickey’s nose, before continuing, “Lip, Fiona, Debs or Carl, they _have_ each other when it gets rough with me. You wouldn't. And I couldn't do this to you anymore. I was done being toxic for you. You deserved to be happy and free.“ His voice is dry, their eyes aren’t. “That's why I let you go, Mick,“ he confesses in a whisper, “Even if it shattered my heart.“  
  
Ian fights a lump in his throat, as he continues slowly. The subject becomes even more sensitive now, and gets harder and harder for him to talk about it. “I think I don't need to mention that my life became the most fucked up version of reality. I was broken. I had lost you again, sure that I’d never be able to see you another time. Feel you. Breathe you.“ He takes a deep inhale, before exhaling, “It pulled the rug out from under me.“  
  
The newly dark haired man notices his man’s nose bumping slightly against his, feels an arm wrapping more firmly around his waist. He feels encouraged. Safe. Secure. The end is in sight, just a few more things that need to be said so that Mickey understands. So that Mickey may be able to forgive him. “I just felt numb from the moment you drove away. Got back home and tried to continue with my life, my routine. But after I had tasted you again, this numbness and loneliness felt heavier and more wrong than ever before. Every emotion was gone. Numbness was all I could feel.“   
  
He knows that Mickey might kill him for what he’s about to say next. But it doesn’t matter. He uncovers his soul infront of his man. The only man that deserves to know everything. “So I had to make a decision: Commit suicide or face the brutal reality of a whole life without you in the best possible way. Taking an overdose of meds would've been easy.“

“Oh my god, _Ian.“_ It’s the first time he hears him speaking again. His voice a cracking whisper in the heavy silence. He knew it would hurt him. That’s why Ian had never said a word about it to anyone else. Not even when Fiona came to his room and asked him, what was wrong. Ian can remember this painful moment exactly. He was laying in his bed, thinking once again about his options. The spot where Mickey used to lay beside him appeared bigger than it was even possible. Ian only told her about it being some larger concerns than only his meds. But he couldn’t tell her more. He knew it would break her. Just like this silence is tearing Mickey even more and more apart.

That’s why he adds quickly, “But I couldn't do it. Couldn’t do that to my family. We've just buried Monica.“ Mickey's expression changes from surprised (probably over Monica’s death) to a darker shade. Ian figures it’s about being pissed that it could‘ve come to that. And that the only reason not to commit suicide was Ian's fear about the well-being of his family after his dissolution. But that’s what it was. A life without Mickey was just not conceivable for him. “Truth is, I even envied the bitch for being under ground.“  
  
Ian feels Mickey’s jaw tensing beneath his fingertips, his ragged breath tickling his skin. He needs to quickly get past that point. “I decided to find a way out of this deafness I was living in. I even tried to rebuild the relationship I had with Trevor. Because I thought that’s what normal people do. Stable people.“ Even though his family started doubting that he was stable after he came back from the border, and acted weirder than before.  
  
“I saw a chance to fill my life with something again, as I tried to help hopeless children in the shelter. Tried to be an ideal for desperate gay teenagers. Tried to give them the support and the ground they didn't receive at home. And suddenly I felt something again.“ He bites on his lower lip, watching Mickey watching him. “ _Something_. Something worth getting up every day, even though it was still a dull life. But the distraction was good enough to keep my mind wandering 24/7 to the Mexican border.“   
  
Ian drops his eyes, revealing the next brutal truth, “Still, even with all the distractions, I felt dead inside. But at this point in my llife, I needed to feel myself so badly again. That’s why I went through all the extremes and realized how worthless everything is, and how numb I still am, no matter what I did. No matter how crazy my actions became. I realized I‘d always live a numb life without you.“

A tear slips through Mickey's lids as he squeezes his eyes shut. Ian doesn‘t know if it's in pain or relief. It doesn’t matter, his thumb catches it and rubs it away, caressing his cheeks in a reassuring gesture. _I’m here. We’re here. Together._

A bitter huff fills the cell as he utters the next words, “I never wanted to be a Monica. I never wanted to hurt the ones I love. But irony is: it was exactly what I became. I hurt the only person I truly and honestly loved with my whole heart: _You_.“  
  
A brief moment of silence follows. A moment, in which they only look at each other and realize that they‘re on the same page, with the same wounded scars and the same innermost desire: Both are hurt, both want to heal together.

“Realizing this, I already was in too much trouble.“ Ian continues, finding himself on the homestretch. “I colored my hair and wanted to run to you. Find you. _Be_ with you. 

Suddenly I was in the same situation as one year ago. Only now, I was a fugitive, too, threatening your newly built life.“ Ian takes a deep breath, “Again, I couldn't do it.“ One of Mickey’s hand unwraps from Ian’s hips and interlaces with Ian’s fingers on Mickey’s cheek, clearly touched by this statement. Ian smiles a little at the sentiment, which gives him the last needed strength to tell the end of their story. Only that his lover turned it into their new beginning.  
  
“I decided that living a numb life in prison isn't much different to the one I already have on the outside. And that's why I turned myself in.“ Breathing in deeply one last time, he sums up everything he said with a few words, “I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done, Mick. I’m _so_ sorry.“

_It’s out there._ Everything is said and done. The heavy burden that Ian has been carrying for years; the plain truth that has just been waiting to be heard by Mickey, is out. Off. Hanging in the moment between them, hoping to be understood and forgiven from the man his heart craves for. After the breakdown from before, the disastrous sex, he’s now even too tired and exhausted to cry. He feels empty. Or in other words, _free._ Free from all the pain he held inside for years. He’s ready to be filled again. Ready for Mickey to breathe life into him.

There’s only one thing left to say.

“I love you.“

And that’s it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's NOT it. More to come!
> 
> Thank you for every comment and kudo you are leaving. You guys are great!
> 
> <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no idea of life in prison, but hey, I’ve fun with it! So what’s the matter, right?! 😉 Enjoy their conversation part 2!
> 
> Oh.. And I've changed the end of the chapter number to 5 ;)
> 
> Have I already told you that the brilliant @Nicrenkel edits every single chapter?! No? Well.. She does! And she's awesome! Thank you, Nic :-*

Ian doesn’t know how much time has passed since Mickey left his emotional outburst hanging without a response. Still, Ian is glad the brunet finally knows. Knows that he never stopped loving him. That even if he tried to replace him or put him in a dark corner of his brain, it would never work. He was always there and always will be. It’s how it is.  
  
Yet, they’re holding their gazes, their bodies wrapped around each other in a soft embrace. Some tears slipped out of the beautiful blue eyes that Ian was glad to catch and rub away. Ian hurt Mickey over three long years, and even now he hurt him with the brutality of his words. But that’s it. Ian is done with being toxic for the only man he truly loves. From now on, he’ll make it better. Be a good man for Mickey. That's the only thing he wants to be.  
  
“You done?“ _finally_ , Ian's favorite voice in the world speaks up.  
  
Well, technically he was done five minutes ago... Ten? Fifteen? Whatever. He creases his forehead in confusion. “Huh?“  
  
Mickey shrugs. “Thought I‘d give you a few more minutes to pity yourself-- and me, one last time. Because from now on, Ian, you're done with it,“ his head following a determind nod, “You hear me?“  
  
Ian stares perplexed in deep blue eyes, not exactly getting if this means he is forgiven or not.  
  
“Everything we went through, everything you did or didn't do, is over now,“ the brunet goes on, “And I don't give a shit if you had a boyfriend or not. It's not important anymore. The only important thing is that we're here. Together. Right now.“  
  
A cold shiver runs down Ian's spine at the certainty of Mickey's words. It pierces through all of the walls Ian still has inside as protection, and touches him in the middle of his heart. “It all led to this moment, Ian.“ Now it's Mickey's turn to stroke his cheek with his thumb and ground him. “We can be together from now on. Here in prison, or wherever we want on the outside. We're free. Everything's fine.“ With his reassuring nod, Mickey's nose bumps against Ian's, smiling from this little moment of intimacy. “ _We‘re_ fine.“  
  
The hammering in his chest is so loud, Ian is sure the sound of it fills their whole cell. His breath gets faster; his heart gallops. Ian feels hot blood rushing through his veins and he panics that he's going to explode at any moment. Dead, from an overdose of happiness in prison. Even the news will tell about his bizarre death.  
  
He needs to calm down. He needs to know that this isn't some hallucination his fucked up brain is torturing him with.   
  
His fingers interlace behind Mickey's neck and he pulls him forward, meeting him in the middle with his longing lips. They kiss is as if they're inhaling each other, opening their mouths to let their tongues have a teasing dance and exchange breaths. It's wonderful. Sweet and soft and finally not rushed. They have time. After such a long and starving period, they finally _have time_ to just kiss and cuddle and _be_. _Halleluja_!  
  
Their hands wander from hair, to necks, over naked backs where Ian tries to savor Mickey's welcoming warmth under his fingertips. He licks and moans into his lover's mouth, letting Mickey's unique taste linger as long as possible on the tip of his tongue. He doesn't know if he has ever felt so _full_ before. Full of happiness and life, fueled with _love_ for and from the only person that truly matters.  
  
_Mickey, Mickey, Mickey_...  
  
It seems like he has sighed his name out loud, since Mickey suddenly stops, licking one last time over Ian's swollen lips. Even though the former redhead feels them both hardening again, it's apparently not what Mickey has in mind. “We should get some sleep,“ he utters, “prison life's tough and we only have a few hours left, if at all.“  
  
“Yeah, you're right.“ Ian agrees, only able to stop kissing him, because he knows that tomorrow's another day. And the day after. And the day after that.   
  
742 days of kissing, cuddling and fucking the hell out of this beautiful man ahead of them, if you're just counting Ian's sentence. He makes a mental note to ask Mickey how long he has to serve another time. Because right now, it doesn't matter. 742 days together and then whatever it takes alone, until they can be together and free on the outside.   
  
Ian will work his ass off to be able to afford an apartment for them, with enough rooms for their kids. Yeah... that's his new mantra that will get him through everything. Every hard time, manic episode or depression will be damned with just the thought of them having an ordinary life as a couple on the outside.   
  
Cooking together or providing food for his lover; working in a job that helps paying _their_ bills; sleeping in on sundays; having breakfast in bed; watching a movie only to fall asleep completely enwrapped in each other; ordering pizza; going out to meet family and friends and have some beer; having their first official date; going to a diner to get pancakes no matter what time it is; calling in sick from work only to fuck in every corner of their apartment; adopt children; have Yev over every....  
  
“What's with Yevy?“ the question slips out of Ian's mouth before he's able to think about the consequences of his words. The power of one name, that could cause so much pain in the man he loves.   
  
“ _Yevy_ ,“ Mickey raises one brow at the mention of the old nickname for his son, “is getting big. He's already six and doing good in Preschool.“  
  
Relief is spreading through Ian that this topic doesn't seem to bother Mickey. On the contrary-- besides his tired and slightly swollen eyes, his man looks proud to talk about his son. It fills Ian's heart with joy.  
  
The black haired ginger is glad that they seem to be in contact and that Yev is allowed to build a relationship with Mickey. Ian had doubted it; after all, Mickey broke out of prison and became a wanted felon. “So you're still in touch?“ he asks, a little hesistant.  
  
“Yeah,“ a small smile tugs at Mickey's lips, “one thing my bitch of an ex-wife always did right. She always tried to keep in contact and let Yev have his father. No matter what a fuck-up I've been.“  
  
“Mick-“  
  
“No. It's true. No need to blanch it over, Ian,“ Mickey declares, “I'm locked away for most of his childhood. I'm a shit father, but still -“ Mickey pauses shortly, letting a grin enlighten his face in this quiet moment, “I _am_ his father. And for whatever reason, the kid somehow loves me.“  
  
“Well I can tell you some reasons,“ Ian throws in.  
  
A soft chuckle leaves Mickey's mouth, scooting closer to Ian. “Yeah, guess I'm not as much of an asshole as Terry was.“  
  
“Fuck, no!“ the tall man confirms, “and don't you dare compare yourself to him, ever again.“  
  
Mickey pecks Ian's lips as a quiet thank you. “Where's Yev now?“ Ian asks in a whisper, the pure silence of the moment almost too precious to be interrupted.  
  
“Fuck, you really wanna have a hard time tomorrow, don't you?“  
  
Ian chuckles. Even though his eyes sting from all the crying before, he feels so much lighter now. So eager to catch up on everything he has missed all the years. He's far away from falling asleep. And he's truly sure it's not that his meds aren't working right. He's high on endorphins and his fucking disorder has absolutely nothing to do with it.   
  
“Think I'll have hard years ahead of me with your ass being constantly around.“ Ian's hips jerk forward, jabbing his dick against Mickey's.  
  
The older man rolls his eyes, “Punny, punny, Gallagher.“ 

Ian wiggles his brows in response, waiting for his man to continue talking. There's so much he needs to know. So many questions he wants to ask.  
  
Mickey groans grumpily. “Alright, sleep's overrated anyway. Though I'd prefer to be awake for some other reasons, but, whatever.“ The brunet sighs dramatically, “The things I do for your ass, right?“  
  
“Technically it's my dick you do it for, Mick.“  
  
“Tell me again, why I got myself locked up?!“  
  
“My dic-“  
  
“It was a rhetorical question, Ian. _Jesus_.“  
  
Both giggle in the darkness of their bottom bunk bed in their cell. It's so light. So wonderful. It's better than Ian would've ever thought his life could be.  
  
“Alright,“ Mickey starts when their laughter had ebbed away, “you probably already know that Svet married this old fuck.“ Ian nods slightly, remembering V telling Fiona about it when he was in the same room. “Grandpa was from Northside, so guess where this bitch lives now.“ Ian's eyebrows shoot up, his surprise not hiding. “Yeah, I know, she made a long way from being a hooker to Princess Sparkle.“ The charming way Mickey talks about his ex-wife makes Ian chuckle.  
  
“So they're still together?“ he asks, baffled that Svet's not done with stroking the balls of a geriatric viagroid.   
  
Now it's Mickey's turn to let his eyebrows climb high. “ _Together_? You're kidding?“ he huffs in a high pitched voice. “ _Please_ , Svet's a bastard, but she's not dumb. Guy died three weeks after the wedding. They had enough time to change his last will and testament to her favor before he had a heart attack. Happened right as an orgasm hit him. Bitch still knows how to shake it out of her wrists.“

Ian scrunches his face in disgust at the thought of that. “So she and Yev live in his house now?“

“Yup!“

Emerald green eyes grow wider in surprise. “Doesn’t he have any children who object or want them out of there?“

“He has but.. nope!“ Mickey makes a loud plopping sound, apparently slightly amused by Ian's lack of comprehension. He probably remembers when he was in Ian's position and Svet tried to explain it to him. “The almost 4,000 ft² huge house is like the shithole among all his properties scattered across the US.“

The former redhead feels his jaw dropping and he doesn’t even know if he’s still blinking or just staring in utter disbelief.

The wonderful sound of Mickey’s soft chuckle puts him back to right now. “Yep, that's exactly how I felt,“ he remarks, letting his heel rub up and down the backside of Ian‘s thighs, grazing his butt. “I‘m almost proud of her.“

“I..I don’t know what to say.“ Ian stammers, but feels light that Svet seems to have everything she needs to provide Yev a good and easy life.

He feels Mickey pressing closer, feels the tingling of his skin everywhere their bodies are connected. Their noses bumping and nuzzling, their chests rubbing, their groins slightly grinding, their legs entangled, Mickey’s heels digging in his ass cheeks and his fingers in his hips, while Ian’s fingers draw patterns in the back of his neck. Mickey’s breath is fanning over his skin and Ian feels nothing but alive. Yet, he is still unable to speak.

“Well..“ the brunet begins, a mischievious grin tugging at the corner of his lips, “Maybe let me start with: There are still a few square feet left that need to be occupied.“

It takes a few seconds for this information to sink in, to be absorbed in Ian’s foggy mind. Then his world stops spinning.

Silence.

Does this..? Is Mickey saying…? What the…?

“ _Hey,“_ suddenly fingers snap him out of his tunnel vision. “Earth to Gallagher.“

His lids blink rapidly. “Are you saying, that – _“_ Because _no_ , that can’t be what Mickey’s indicating.

“Yeah.“

“But..“ hundreds of thoughts run through his mind, while his brain still struggles to form them to accurate sentences. He swallows down the bitter smack of his next words, “but Svet hates me.“

“Bullshit!“ the protest slips so fast from Mickey‘s lips, that Ian can’t even finish his string of thoughts. “No one hates you, Ian. You have these big fuckin‘ puppy dog eyes. And who the hell hates puppies?“ the brunet shrugs with a matter of course, as if he’d just provided him the most sophisticated and irrefragable explanation of the world.

The black haired ginger rolls his eyes, his heart feeling heavier with his next confession. “I kidnapped her baby.“

“You were sick,“ Mickey is so quick on the trigger, so eager to fight every pain causing statement coming from Ian’s lips that he’s a little taken aback. “And Svet knows that.“ Mickey confirms with a nod. “That you ran off with Yev is not the reason why you’re not her best friend right now.“

“So she _does_ hate me.“

The brunet rolls his eyes. “Why are you always so dramatic?!“ he sighs, patting him on the cheek, “She doesn’t hate you, Ian. She just doesn’t like you at the moment.“

A dry laugh escapes Ian’s lips. “Oh. That’s better.“

“Fuckin‘ right it is.“ Mickey smiles proudly, as if it’s his credit that Ian has already climbed one step further in Svetlana's reputation. “And now we’ve got two years to convince her to let us live with her until we found something for better for us, but still close to Yev.“

_Us. Yev._ Ian doesn’t know if his heart can take another swelling, but he’s ready to try. He lets himself be filled with happiness, lets himself be flooded with all the positive emotions that he was denied for so many years.

_Hope._ He is allowed to hope for a better future with a family. The only family he ever wanted to have. “So she’s visiting you here?“ he pauses shortly before adding, “ _Us_?“

With a content smile, the brunet nods, “They do. Every week. Just not as _Svet_ and _Yev,_ but _Irene_ and _Lucas_.“

Shit. He really thought he had used up all his tears in the collapse from before and yet they’re almost brimming over. “I will see Yevy again?“ he swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Of course you‘ll see him. Both of them. And I’m sure your puppy dog eyes will once again do the trick. Fuckin‘ ask me how.“ Mickey answers only half-heartedly annoyed.

They lock their gazes with soft smiles on their faces, before Ian blinks twice to give said expression and lets a tear slip down his cheeks.

“Oh yeah. _That’s_ how.“ They chuckle in unison, before one of Mickey’s hands wanders from his hips to his face. As he brushes his thumb over Ian‘s cheekbone, then drops it to smooth the pad over his bottom lip, Ian reciprocates, gently stroking Mickey‘s cheeks as well, before he‘s pulled slightly forwards, to fill the little inches that are left. “C’mere, fucker.“

They kiss slowly and softly, both humming a bit as they part their lips to mingle their tongues. Ian lets himself indulge, giving in to his never ending hunger for this man. Their bodies press together more firmly and their mouths soon begin moving more roughly as hands begin to roam over each other with harder, wanting grasps. Again, Ian feels them both harden as the friction builds beneath the sheet of their bottom bunk bed. But still, Ian’s mind is running a thousand miles, his body not able to catch up to it.

“What’s with Mandy?“ he asks, stopping their already steamy foreplay.

“Goddamn it, Gallagher,“ Mickey sighs at the end of his nerves, “You ever intend on fucking me in here?“

It draws a chuckle out of Ian. Oh how he had missed his needy little bottom. “Believe me, I will,“ he promises, the determination flickering through his green gaze. “In every goddamn position and every goddamn corner of this room. But first I need to catch up on everything. How else will I survive in here if I don‘t have all the important information?“ He wiggles his brows playfully, also stunned that he picks talking above fucking. But maybe that’s a good way to start their new life.

“I really don’t know how the information about the pain in the ass of my sister is going to save you here in prison, but _hey_ , if you choose talking about her instead of getting on me, that’s fine. 216 other cellmates in here. I’ll probably find one who wants to bang.“

Now it’s Ian’s turn to roll his eyes. “Now _who‘s_ being dramatic over here, huh?“

Mickey clicks his tongue playfully, his look challenging. “Says the one who already shot his load.“

_Touché._ He has to give him that. Even though the memory from a few hours before embarrasses him.  Ian gives in. “Fine. You get my dick in you as soon as possible, but can you please anwer my question first?“

“Which question?“

“My question about Mandy. Where is she? What is she doing? Are you guys still in touch? Is she married? Alone? Is she still doing the escor-“

“ _Jesus,_ Gallagher, that are five fucking hundred questions.“ Mickey interrupts his sputtering, “Choose one.“

“Okay.“ Ian’s mind is wandering up and down, trying to find the right question for this moment. The brunet will probably stop talking about her after answering this one, so he has to pick the one, that could be important if someone asks questions tomorrow. “What do we call her when she comes here for a visit?“

“Douchebag.“ Mickey answers with a shrug, “But you can also call her _Asswipe_ or _Bitch_ , that’s fine.“

The covered redhead closes his eyes, while a grin spreads across his face. He should’ve known. Damn. But who says he has to play fair, when Mickey messes with their deal?!

He opens his _big puppy eyes_ and stares right into his lover’s ones, before blinking a few times exaggerated.

“Fucking fine, asshole.“ The brunet gives in, “We call her _Eva_. And before you make this pouty face with this monstrous chin of yours –“

“I don’t have a monstrous chin!“

“She still lives in Minneapolis, but promised to visit every once in a while. She has a husband, who once was her client, but fell in love with her – don’t ask me why – and helped her out of this escort thing. You happy now?“

“Very happy.“ Ian answers with a nod and a goofy smile plastered on his lips. “Love that you’re still in touch and she comes for visits. Can’t wait to see her.“

“You’re way too excited for a life in prison,“ teases Mickey, even though Ian can clearly see that he still finds him charming. Mickey’s soft look that grazes over his features gives him that.

“No,“ the former redhead protests with a chuckle, “It’s already way better than the one I had on the outside,“ he explains the bitter truth. “I can see all the people I love. All the people I missed so much.“ It’s not only his own family that he’s about to see (because his siblings, Kev and V promised to visit him as often as they can. They agreed to make a visit schedule, so that there’s always one family member per week go to see him), but also the Milkovich family. He had missed them like a lost piece of puzzle to his soul. It’s true. He’s over-the-top excited.

The tall man pulls Mickey closer to him, as the latter rolls his eyes. “Dork.“

“God, I’m so glad I didn’t take your father’s advice.“ Ian whispers into Mickey’s ears, while simultaneously nibbling on his earlobe.

“Scuse me?“ The brunet scoots away, staring wide eyed in amused green ones.

Ian shrugs nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t almost shit his pants when he knocked on the Milkovich door a few days ago. “Oh yeah. Had a pep talk with Terry, before I got here. He told me to pack my shit and run.“

Disbelief and utter confusion, maybe even a bit of rage crosses Mickey’s features as he tries to proceed Ian’s words. “ _You_ had a pep talk with _my_ dad?“ he asks, his pupils staring holes in Ian’s face, “Are you fucking kidding me? He could’ve killed you, Ian.“

Again, Ian only shrugs, as he recalls the true reason of his visit to the old Milkovich house. At the time, he already felt dead on the inside. What should he‘ve been afraid of? It was his last and only chance. “Was worth it, though.“

He hadn‘t thought that Mickey's eyebrows could rise any more, but as it seems, they could. “And _what_ the fuck exactly was worth it, Ian?“ Yeah, there’s definitely a bit of anger behind his words, Ian’s sure now.

Nothing happened, though, so he can probably trust him with the truth. “Needed to see if he knew anything about you,“ he admits, earning a scoff from Mickey in return. Yeah, he knows... as if Mickey would’ve confided in Terry while being on the run. But Ian was desperate. Fucking needy for anything to hold onto. “Yeah, laugh it off, but what other options did I have, huh?“ he questions him a little provoking, as if Mickey left him no other choice than running straight to Terry’s arms. “Absolutely no one! Svet and Yev were gone, as well as Mands, who by the way has a new phone number, she didn’t give me and I can’t even blame her for that. And I had no clue where else to look for you.“

“So you went to my psychotic prick of a dad?“

“Yeah,“ the young man confesses, lowering his eyes, because yet he’s getting a bit ashamed of it. “Told me you’re still in Mexico, though,“ he admits further, still avoiding the perfect shade of blue, “So that’s why I packed my shit, dyed my hair black and wanted to run off. Until..“ he remembers that he already was at this point of his declarations tonight. And since he has absolutely no desire to repeat this emotional outburst, he concludes his sentence with a simple "you know.“

Mickey understood. Of course he did. “Until you decided you couldn’t do that to me. Threaten my newly built life.“

“Yeah.“

“You’re something else, you know that, Gallagher?“ Mickey’s nose bumps into his, prompting him to look him in the eyes again. “You almost took my dad’s advice! And here I thought you were the clever one out of the two of us.“

It forces a giggle out of Ian and subsequently Mickey, and that brings him back to reality. “Only that I didn’t. Because I’m here now.“ He scoots closer again, shutting down the space Mickey built up before and rubbing his body up and down the one he loves. His hips automatically start swaying in rolling motions.

Before Ian’s mouth can catch Mickey’s in a lingering kiss, the smaller one raises his brows and breathes onto the younger man’s lips, “I can feel that. Hello there.“

Both chuckle, feeling safe in the darkness of their prison cell. “Hey.“

He feels Mickey’s strong arms wrapping around his body and welcomes the embrace with his own, sliding around the older man’s waist, quickly pulling him closer and instantly deepening their kiss without any hesitation or restraint.

Both men grasp and pull, rutt and grind into each other, their already half hard cocks quickly swelling once more under the thin sheet. The heat of their flushed skin is taking over, the pleasurable friction between them causing needy breaths to fill the room. Mickey’s hands find Ian’s hips once again and begin to slowly glide upward, caressing the hot flesh above the trembling muscles. It’s not just the warmth that builds between them, but also the ability to touch and caress the man he loves that floods Ian’s body.

They quickly get into their routine of giving and taking, providing and receiving. When Ian pushes, Mickey pulls, when Ian bites, Mickey licks. The former redhead can’t stop his moving hands from reaching and touching everything he has missed so much, smoothing over a hard pack of abs, up over the other man’s chest, the need to feel more of Mickey guiding him.

Ian runs the tip of his tongue over Mickey's lower lip, earning him a pleasurable groan he can feel rumble in the other man's chest, while their cocks are gliding over the thin layer of cotton beneath them. The young man can feel both of them tensing, the days without this pleasure too long to not have build this pent-up pressure between them.

When Ian reaches between them, to help both of them out of their boxers, he notices the wet spots on each of their underwear. God, they’re both so needy. So hungry for more.

When Mickey kisses the side of Ian's neck, teasing him with the edges of his teeth and begins to suck deep and hard Ian simply lets him. Too lost in every overwhelming sensation the other man is flooding him with, without thinking of the consequences these marks could have in prison. He can’t think of anything else than wanting more from Mickey, needing it and quickly beginning to ache for it, closing his eyes and biting his lip as he feels more skin along his neck begins to purple and turn tender from Mickey's rough, eager mouth.

It just feels incredible, savoring and relishing the feeling of the other man's hands, lips and body all over him, like Mickey needs it too, desperately trying to quench the very same seemingly incurable thirst.

The tingling in his chest, the weight of Mickey’s dick sliding over his own, is almost too much for him to bear. He needs to take over, otherwise the pleasure is going to tear him apart.

With all of his power, he pushes Mickey down, finding his lips again in a needy kiss, while his body hovers above him. He pins Mickey’s strong arms down, above his head, and rolls his hips forward, feeling the brunet following his movements to do the same. In an instant, the hunger is overtaking him, needing the salty taste so badly on his tongue, wanting to fullfy his lover in ways, only Ian is able to do.

Then, all of a sudden, the brunet stops kissing him and flashes the starving man a cocky smirk with an arched brow, indicating that he shares the desire Ian has in mind.

So the newly black haired man drops his face further down to bite and suck along Mickey‘s collarbone, that draws another long and low moan out of the shaking man beneath him and makes him shut his beautiful blue eyes. “Holy shit, _Ian!“_ is the trembling sound that echoes off the wall, when Ian curls his tongue around Mickey’s navel, tracing the line further down to his hips. He hears Mickey gasp and pant, wiggling from side to side as his slick muscle nears the zone, the small man wants to be touched so badly.

When Ian’s nose takes a deep breath in Mickey’s pubic hair, latter is forced to open his eyes with a flicker, his lashes fluttering a bit as he gazes beneath a lustfully knitted brow, down to Ian, who nestles beneath his thighs.

The smell alone, makes Ian’s mouth water in anticipation, not able to wait any longer to lay his lips around that thick and throbbing dick. He notices Mickey’s eyes watching every of his movements, feels his fingers threading into his former red locks.

His mouth is already open, on its way to swallowing him down, when suddenly a hard tug on his hair yanks him away.

“Jesus, fuck!“ Mickey curses completely out of breath, “we really need to talk about that black hair, though. It’s like getting blown from a complete stranger!“

…Ian really starts to wonder if they’ll ever make it to the actual fucking, when the lights suddenly go on and the first day of their new life begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ll get there. Don’t worry 😉
> 
> Sorry it’s basically just dialogue. But since it’s what the show denied us, I figured that’s what we need.
> 
> Thanks for your support and every kudo and/or comment you're leaving. You guys are awesome!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks,
> 
> this is the last chapter for now. I really want to write an epilogue, though, so if you've subscribed you'll get the notification per mail. I probably just won't make it that fast, since I have to work on some private things in real life. That's why I 'end' it here.
> 
> Thank you all for your amazing feedback, I really appreciated it and would love to read another comment from you.
> 
> Enjoy the last chapter (for now) - the blue balls are finally over ;)
> 
> xoxo

Ian is tired, so  _fucking_  tired. The day is already too long, and yet somehow not even close to the end. But still – he wouldn’t change a thing. He only wished the night would’ve been longer so that he could’ve fucked Mickey a few times  _and_  get some sleep. Nevertheless, he doesn’t regret the talking. It needed to be done.  
  
He’s just glad that he doesn’t have to work today and suffer through Connor and Warren’s annoying tattle. Today after his 'breakfast', he has a therapy session with his own therapist, who promised to accompany him through the two years. Normally, prison provided in-house therapists, but since Ian is mentally ill and on meds, they considered it too dangerous to mess with something that functions just fine as it is. His therapist, Dr. Sarah Baker, is already familiar with his past. She knew about which meds he‘d already tried that didn’t sit well, his depression, and his current medication. That’s why his application for a personal therapist was granted.  
  
So when Ian first entered the dreary 'therapy room‘, which only provided two cold steel chairs (nothing compared to the comfortable and bright one in Dr. Baker's practice), she was shocked.  
  
“Ian, are you okay? Are your meds not working? You look tired.“  
  
But he only smiled and breathed a soft “Yeah,“ into the frustratingly dark room, “I’m okay.“ Even though he wished for nothing more than a comfortable bed or a strong coffee, he meant it from the bottom of his heart. He was more than okay. And the bright smile that bloomed across his face let his therapist know that he’s being honest with her.  
  
His sincere grin seemed to be contagious, as immediately it took over the face of the middle aged woman as well. “Ian Gallagher, am I mistaken or do you look happy and content _for real_?“  
  
“You’re not,“ he stated, his smile becoming even bigger and more embarrassing, “I’m happy.“  
  
Even though Ian could clearly see that she’s happy for him, he also couldn’t miss the confused look that was splattered across her face. “How come?“  
  
Yeah.. How come? How was it that his therapist, who had accompanied him through his highs and lows for nearly three years, backed him up when he needed it most, encouraged him when he craved the comforting words, listened to him openly when he needed to talk everything from his soul, helped him with his career start, and analyzed all relationships with him was now finding him truly happy for the first time when he’s locked away for two years behind bars? Well, he can understand her perplexity.  
  
“Mickey's here.“  
  
He didn’t need to say more, Dr. Baker knew. Well, Ian didn’t talk  _a lot_  about Mickey, since he tried to push him out of his thoughts for a long time. But when he did, she understood. Not many words were needed to convey the message of true love.  
  
And so it happened that at least this one hour of the day flew by in no time, after she checked on his stability. They talked about everything Ian wasn’t able to say in the past few years but yet could. And Dr. Baker just listened and smiled. She even looked a little proud of him, which made it even better.  
  
Although her plan was to talk to him about the everyday life and routine here in prison, and give him tips on how he can handle his illness at best in here, it never came to that. She just let him overflow with happiness and postponed everything else to the next meeting next week.  
  
Now he’s standing in the corridor, walking towards the open space for the convicts, where Mickey told him to appear after his lesson. “We gotta play cards, it’s what all the people do in here.“ his voice echoes in his mind.  
  
He hears the men from far away already, knowing that he’s nearing the space. He just hopes, Mickey is already there to pick him up and tell him what to do. He feels so lost without him.  
  
When he sees him, his heart starts thrumming in his ears. He has to fight the overcoming urge to grab and kiss him, slam him into the next wall and grind up on him until they’re both coming in their boxers like teenagers. It’s embarassing, but that’s what it always was. Being near Mickey always meant to pull all of his strength together in public to not get on him right here and now.  
  
But since he has spent years training his urges, it’s a bit easier to just slip beside him and give him a quick glance over, imaging all the things he’s going to do to him later. “Hey.“  
  
It’s not visible for anybody else, but for Ian it’s clear as day-- the little tug that pulls on Mickey’s lips in the few seconds his eyes are locked with Ian’s. “Gallagher,“ Mickey nods, his arms crossed infront of his chest, observing the situation playing out infront of them. “Wanna play Euchre?“  
  
A bite on his lip, keeps him from jumping right on Mickey to show him some other play he has in mind. He nods hesitantly and shortly, not wanting to arise suspicion by already seeming too close with his roomie.  
  
The brunet nods in a certain direction and starts walking, Ian’s right on his heels. “Usually you gotta stand in line and challenge someone who’s playing,“ Mickey speaks under his breath, “But we're lucky. Jackson and Hulio have the table over there and nobody challenged them. So we gotta sit there.“  
  
“Why are they always alone?“ Ian wonders aloud, before they reach the corner.  
  
It’s when Mickey stops abruptly and turns around. “Jackson‘s got life sentence.“ Piercing blue eyes stare deeply into green ones, letting a cold shiver run down Ian’s spine, “And  _no one_ messes with them. They’ve got nothing to lose.“  
  
He waits a few more seconds with raised brows, asking  _Got it?_ without words until Ian nods and they make the last few steps up to the table.  
  
“Malone, Gallagher,“ Hulio greets them, gesturing with his hand to the seats where they should settle down, “Glad you’re here. I need better opponents than Jackson.“  
  
The former redhead hears the dark haired man clicking his tongue and sees the slightest hint of a smile in the corner of his eye, before Mickey plops down beside Hulio and nods to the chair opposite of him, beside Jackson.  _Great_ , Mickey might be comfortable with someone who’s got a life sentence (shit, has he killed someone?), but Ian is not. But he trusts Mickey. And since his lover seems to rely on them as confidantes (since calling them 'friends‘ might be a bit too early), Ian does, too and takes his seat next to the tattooed man.  
  
“You know the game, Gallagher?“ Mickey asks him, and tears his attention back to the cards. Ian again just nods, remembering the game nights in the Gallagher house all too well. After Carl was in juvie, he wanted to play this game over and over again. He recalls correctly that the gist is to get at least the majority of the tricks, that is three in number.  
  
“Alright, I give.“ Hulio says and starts shuffling the cards, before he passes everyone five.  
  
Ian looks around, letting the atmosphere sink in. He notices the inmates around him coming and going, sees them winning and losing, but none of the present men behave conspicuously or seem frightening (Jackson excepted). Here, around them, are just people whom Ian recognizes only as convicts because of their yellow overalls. He wonders what their crimes are; whether they are sentenced for offenses that were more minor than Ian what had committed.  
  
“Your first time in prison?“ the deep raw sound of Jackson’s voice causes him to startle.  
  
“Yeah,“ he breathes, looking down to his cards and picking them up.  
  
“Hearts are trump. You playin‘ or passin‘?“ Hulio wants to know.  
  
The former redhead observes his cards before saying, “Playing,“ and looks to Mickey who smiles at him filthily, as if it’s turning him on. But okay, there’s almost no situation for the both of them that _doesn’t_ turn the other one on. It seems almost impossible these days.  
  
God, they really need to fuck their brains out tonight. Otherwise it’s going to be tricky to hide their hard-ons the whole time.  
  
“Michael already told you how everything functions in here?“ Hulio asks, before Mickey throws his first card in.  
  
“Nope,“ the brunet answers for him, “That’s why we’re playing cards now. Figured that’s a good place to give him the basics.“  
  
Ian plays his first heart card, which gets him the first trick and admiring glances and a lip bite from his lover.  _Damn_ , this is going to be hard. “The basics?“  
  
“Yeah,“ Mickey says in a low voice, making sure only the four of them can hear him, while Ian plays out the next card and the other two are letting out a frustrating groan, “Look, there's a lot of racism in here,“ Mickey starts, eyes on the four cards in his hands, “So when for example two black guys roll up on you, they typically don't wanna make friends, Ian.“ This time he looks up at him, locking their gazes shortly to underline the importance of his explanations, while he throws a card in. “They do some fishing for other big guys in here. They are out there scouting and will start asking crazy fucking questions to find out where you come from or if you have any money on you.“  
  
“Don't answer that.“ Hulio throws in, passing the four cards to Ian, since he has won another round.  
  
Ian plays his third card, when Mickey adds, “No, don't. It's a trap.“ While Hulio and Jackson grunt in frustration, Ian knows that Mickey is aroused from his clever move. “Tell them that you don't even know their names, so why you should answer that? And then leave.“  
  
Ian takes this trick again and lays out his next trump. “Also, when you play cards with others, answer their questions carefully and ask your own.“ Hulio says, before giving Ian an incredible look for the game he plays “Really man?“ When Ian only smirks slightly, Hulio throws his card in “Fucking fine, take all of it, damn it!“  
  
Ian catches Mickey chuckle at that, before the brunet speaks up, “Anyways, they  _stop_  asking personal shit if you  _start_  asking it.“  
  
The former redhead nods and pulls the cards from the middle of the table to his side. He then plays his last card – a Joker. With headshakes and displeased sighs, everyone throws their last cards Ian’s way.  “That’s it,“ Hulio hisses, “You destroyed my triumphal procession, Gallagher. That's why I never play with money, and you shouldn't do it either. Remember that.“ Hulio instructs him, before he continues, “Knew a guy, lets call him Tony, who played with the money he earned in here. He always won. Until someday, he didn't. He couldn't stop though, and he lost so high that he owed the other one money. $350, which is in here like $3,500 on the street. The other guy wanted his money, which of course Tony didn't have. So the other guy pimped him out. Turned him to a prison bitch and sold him, until he had what he wanted. Tony was never the same again.“  
  
Ian doesn't know what to say. And seemingly, neither does Mickey. He's thankful for stories like that, though. Because even if he thought he _knew_ about the hard life in prison, he didn't. There's so much he needs to be careful about, so much to watch out for.  
  
“So always know when to quit.“ Hulio adds and gets up, “I’m out. See you guys in the dining hall.“ He shrugs and leaves, Jackson right behind him, only nodding as a goodbye at them.  
  
Ian watches them disappear in the distance, before he turns back to Mickey and finds him staring at him with a pleased smile, lustfilled eyes and this fucking lip bite that does things to him. “Good game, Gallagher.“  
  
“Yeah?“ he raises his brows in a hopeful bliss, leaning forward to whisper softly “You gonna play with me, now?“  
  
Mickey’s eyes scan the room, before he meets him in the middle of the table, face to face, only mere inches apart for Ian to crash his lips on his and taste him. “I’m gonna play with you later.“  
  
A grin spreads over Ian’s tired face, even though Mickey’s words do nothing else than making him feel alive.  
  
“Alright,“ the brunet says and leans back in his chair, passing the cards to Ian, “Your turn.“  
  
Ian has never played Euchre with only two players, but something in Mickey’s eyes tells him that the game is only secondary now. So he does as he is told and gives the cards.  
  
“We need to get you a shank,“ Mickey suddenly says, before playing a card, that Ian is glad to surpass. “Always be ready to fight, here.“ When Ian only nods without asking, because who is he to question Mickey’s know-how in here, the smaller man continues, “We need to train. Got some moves?“  
  
Ian plays the next card, “Yeah, Carl's girlfriend showed me some.“  
  
A surprised laugh spills from Mickey’s mouth, before his eyes observe the situation around them again. _Never show too much affection!_ “You’re something else, Gallagher. Getting prepared for prison from the chick your younger brother bangs.“  
  
“Hey,“ Ian protests, “Kelly's the daughter of an Army officer and West Point alumnus.“  
  
Mickey shakes his head, the blooming smile still around his pillowy lips. “Yeah, alright firecrotch. Keep doin‘ that.“  
  
“What?“  
  
“Making people laugh.“ Deep blue eyes stare into green one, underlining his next message, “If you’re always acting respectful and correct, and are also able to provide some jokes in here, you shouldn’t have a problem. Life in here’s hard. Everyone needs a good laugh every once in a while.“  
  
Ian isn’t focused on the cards anymore and he knows Mickey isn’t either. The brunet’s goal is to give Ian enough tips to survive on his own, when Mickey isn’t within reach. And Ian hangs on every word he‘s saying, wanting to make their time as easy as possible. Sure, Mickey could’ve told him all of that tonight – well,  _no_ , probably not _tonight_ , but every other time in their cell – but being in public makes them less conspicuously.  
  
“Y’know, there are some prisoners here who have nothing to lose because of their life sentence so they don’t give a shit about rules. Those are the ones you need to be careful of.“ In an instant, Jackson is on his mind, and Ian can’t help but creasing his brows in confusion, which Mickey gets right away, “Not Jackson, though. That’s another story to tell.“  He takes a deep breath and plays a card. Without really caring, Ian throws his own, before Mickey continues talking, “But the other’s, who are sentenced just like you and me for only a few months or years, they don’t want to fuck up their sentence. So usually, if you don’t pick up a fight on your own, most oft he cellmates won’t either.“  
  
“Always be polite and respectful and no one’s gonna harm me. Got it.“ He picks up the cards, to mix them again.  
  
“I said  _most_  of the cellmates. There are also those, who are bored and want to get in a fight without starting it. Showing off their power.“ Mickey hides his beautiful face behind the cards Ian gives him, before leaning forward again to make Ian understand, “No matter how polite or respectful you are, someone's always gonna test you, Ian. Like Connor and Warren. They are annoying the shit out of you, pushing every botton, until you explode and get into trouble.“  
  
“Like you did?“ Ian asks, remembering Mickey losing his control yesterday, when Connor and Warren provoked him.  
  
“Yeah, but I knew what I did. Knew what I had to lose, if I‘d fuck up my sentence.“  
  
Blue meets green and no more words are needed. There’s  _too_ _much_ to risk for both of them. “I won’t fuck it up, Mick.“  
  
When the shorter man only nods, they continue with one round of their game in complete silence, before Mickey suddenly bursts out “You gotta do some sports.“  
  
Ian arches a brow at him, “You sayin‘ I gained weight?“  
  
“Fuck no, you dork,“ Mickey huffs a laugh, “but it's what all people do in here.“ This time Mickey throws the Joker card and earns himself a impressed grin from Ian. “The people who play sports are active and not into the drama of the prison. The people who are only standing and staring are acting pretty fucking suspect, though. So don't be like that.“  
  
“Okay,“ Ian sighs and narrows his eyes as if he's thinking hard about something, “I could play basketball. I'm tall.“  
  
“Yeah, _no_ , you don't play basketball, Ian.“  
  
The former redhead waits for an explanation that doesn't seem to come. So he gives in, “And why don't I play basketball, Mick?“  
  
“Black dudes run the basketball chords, here. Don't think you can go out there and play a quick game. They always got some rivalry going on that I don't want you to mess with.“  
  
_I don't want you to mess with._ A fluttery feeling spreads from his guts over his whole body, making him painfully aware of the beautiful wonder that is Mickey Milkovich. He always says things straight forward with a shrug, even though the message carries so much love within.   
  
“But soccer. You can try that. There are all kinds of cultures, so that should show your respect.“  
  
“Alright,“ Ian shrugs and gives the next set of cards, while he smiles goofily at his lover, “I've always been good at plunging balls.“  
  
Mickey can't help but smile at him with all his teeth, before looking around and rubbing the display of affection away with his thumb. “Cocky motherfucker.“ He throws his card towards Ian.  
  
It almost makes Ian proud to still be able to make Mickey grin, even in here, and he can't help the smile that tugs on his own corners of lips. Again, Ian gets the trick with a trump, “Any more tips for me, Malone?“  
  
“Yeah, don't drop your pencil in the _wrong_ _way_ infront of the _wrong_ _person_. It could get you a beat down. Always apologize.“  
  
“You never apologize.“   
  
“Someone has to be the very wrong person, Gallagher.“ Mickey grins at him and through Ian rushes a shot of endorphines. “We’ll be a good team. You try to make the harmless ones our aquaintances with your charm while I try to keep the bad boys away from us by being a hardass.“  
  
“Hardass, huh?“ Ian’s brows shoot up high, giving Mickey a playful smile and a click with his tongue. He pushes the cards away and leans forward, almost breathing the same air as his lover. “Says this night‘s bottom.“  
  
“Liking what I like don’t make me a bitch.“ Mickey counters, bringing up some good memories from their past.  
  
“No. But I will.“  
  
The fire spreads in both of their eyes and Ian catches Mickey shuffling in his chair to adjust his yellow jumpsuit. The lip bite from his man doesn’t help Ian to get his hard on under control and he wishes so badly he could get down on his knees for Mickey right now. But it’s still six hours to go until their doors are locked. _God damn it!_  
  
“Hey Gallagher, just one more thing,“ the brunet whispers almost nose to nose with him, “Never drop the soap in the shower... only do that if _I’m_ in there with you.“  
  
“Got it.“ Ian nods, his imagination running in full circles on him, what the both of them could do in such a tiny, little, steamy place. That doesn’t help his erection either. Shit, he needs to fuck him, blow him, kiss him or a _t least_ touch him so badly right now. A whole day forced to be seperated while being this close to each other is what he calls fucking cruelty.

“Hey Mick?“

“Huh?“

“Meet you in our cell under the doorwindow in five minutes.“

Mickey laughs, but still comes. Which is only be the beginning of Ian’s plans today.  
   


 

Finally,  _fucking_ finally, the doors are locked and the lights from the cells are out. Only the dim lights from the outside shine through the doorwindow, giving Ian the gift of seeing Mickey trembling beneath him.  
  
“You finally going to fuck me?“ Mickey asks, arching his back and waist upwards to never lose body contact with Ian as he rocks his hips above the love of his life. Their dicks are both painfully hard; so full of load that needs to be released from the heat of their bodies, rubbing without barrier between their bellies, glazed with precome. Their craving for the other one is too much, too loud, and sheerly unstoppable. That’s why their lips crash harshly, bite hard, and suck thirsty. Moan after moan is absorbed in each other’s mouths, while hands roam over every inch of their skin that was denied them for so long.  
  
“Yeah,“ he pants ragged, his voice struggling from this unbearable arousal, “And I'm not gonna go easy on you.“  
  
As a whimper of lust exits Mickey’s lips, several shivers run through Ian’s spine and he doesn’t know how he should make it out of there alive. It feels like his skin is burning under Mickey’s touch. And  _god_  does this feel good.  
  
But then Mickey suddenly changes out of powerlessness, grabs Ian’s bare ass and starts grinding him harder down against him, both chasing the high the other one is able to present. “Don't want you to,“ he whispers, before biting into Ian’s earlobe and breathing hot and heavy against it.  
  
Fuck. Ian didn’t think it was possible for him to get turned on even more, but his dick twitches and aches and he is so willing to give in and let go. But he knows he can’t. Painfully aware from the horrible sex they already had, where Ian came straight from just entering Mickey only to break down completely afterwards, he now wants to make this unforgettable for his man. The sex is what will bring them through the two years. The sex and just being with each other.    
  
And now he’s on a mission. The mission to drive Mickey completely crazy until he begs for mercy. That’s what he knows calms him. That’s what always grounded him.  
  
“How often can you cum for me, huh?“ he asks, biting into the spot right beneath Mickey’s ear and feeling him spasm underneath his roll of hips.  “Once?“ he starts kissing his way down over his sharp set of jaw along his collarbones to his nipples, where he starts sucking him gently and hears a load groan filling the air, “Twice?“ his tongue slides to the other side, tracing the lines of the tattooed red fox with its tip. His hunger for Mickey increases, though, that’s why his soft kissings turn more into a harsh biting, killing him for the sake of understanding.  
  
But his man is strong and wiggles against him, producing friction on his cock against Ian’s chest, his hands pushing him further down. “You know I can.“ His voice is so raw, yet so desperate and needy, it almost tears Ian's chest apart.   
  
Yes, Ian knows he can. He remembers the days when he and Mickey didn't make it out of the house because they fucked as if their life depended on it and Mickey came twice in a row. He's a good bottom, a _good boy_ ; that's what Ian remembers he likes to be called.  
  
But Ian doesn't want to repeat the good old times. He wants to create new moments with Mickey, _better ones_.   
  
His tongue circles Mickey's navel, who's already a shivering mess beneath Ian's fingertips that caress his sides softly. His chin nestles in the brunets pubic hair, when he looks back up at Mickey and finds him staring magnetized. Their gazes lock, before Ian swallows down the lump in his throat that is forming because of his lack of understanding that this is really _real_. This is happening. With Mickey. He collects all his courage and breathes out his next penetrating question, that doesn't seem to leave his mind, “Three times?“   
  
“Oh fuck!“   
  
The whine spills from Mickey's lips promptly, Ian has to reassure himself the brunet has actually heard him. “Can you do that, Mick? Huh? Cumming for me three times?“  
  
Mickey's eyes flutter close, their gaze broken. He seems painfully aware of what is about to happen and can't handle the slow burn, the sweet but torturing anticipation, anymore. “Then fucking do something already, Gallagher!“  
  
Well, Ian doesn't need to be told twice. He has _a lot_ in mind to do to this wonderful body, so he starts with what he has missed the most from having sex with Mickey. Teasing the wonder that is Mickey's ass.   
  
With a quick swift motion, he flips him onto his stomach, and LORD, this man really has the most beautiful ass he's ever had seen. A low grumble comes out of his throat, as he starts massaging and spreading the cheeks. “ _God_ , Mickey.“   
  
He can't tear his eyes apart from the hole that presents itself infront of him, everytime he opens Mickey's cleft. Without thinking it over he slaps him hard, before massaging the red spot that shines through Mickey's porcellain skin almost immediately. Mickey keens. “Jesus, fuck!“  
  
He does it again, spanking him, because he can't help himself, seeing Mickey laying there so bare and vulnerable and open _for him_. He's allowing him to do everything Ian wants. And Ian wants a lot.  
  
His fingers dig, rub, spank and massage over the soft, round cheeks, before they wander closer to the spot where Mickey obviously wants to be touched so badly. He pushes his ass against Ian's fingers, that start circling his hole softly, giving him goosebumps. His index finger moves around dryly, before he spits onto Mickey's hole to smoothen the process. Another moan from his lover fills the air. “Ian, _please_.“  
  
The smile that spreads on Ian's face is proud. Mickey wants him. He needs him. Just as much Ian can only breathe with the love of this man in his life.  
  
His thumb strokes over Mickey's entrance, his hole starting to clench in anticipation, glistening wonderfully from the mess Ian already made. He dives in, until his fingernail is enlaced with the hot, twitching flesh. Then he pulls back out.   
  
A whimper from the loss immediately emits Mickey's lips, whose head is pushed into the thin pillow under him, trying to help him muffling his sounds. The sounds Ian has missed so much.   
  
“Let me hear you, Mick.“ the former redhead breaths and pushes the first digit back in, before he pulls it out again.  
  
Mickey turns his head to the side, his head already flushed and a little moist from sweat. Ian's not wondering, though, since the built man squirms underneath him, pushing his ass back in hope to get his fingers deeper. Deep down to the spot, that makes him seeing stars. “Please, don't.“ Mickey begs, his forehead ceased.  
  
“Don't what?“  
  
“Don't -“ Mickey starts, as Ian pushes his thumb a little back in, his other fingers rubbing over Mick's sensitive rim, “Don't tease me.“  
  
His man's breath is so ragged, Ian doesn't know what to do with himself. He's so turned on, so eager to cum, his dick slightly rubbing on the sheets below his body, between Mickey's strong thighs. He needs to make him cum three times, so he‘d better get the show started.  
  
The tall man almost misses Mickey's last whispering of “Please,“ when he pushes the ass cheeks aside and crashes forward, his mouth covering his hole, his tongue seeking its way in.  _God Mickey_ , this taste. This unique and wonderful taste of him.  
  
The brunet shudders so heavily from lust, that his whole body is shaking and Ian has a hard time to move along with him. His fingers curl around Mickey's hips to push him backwards and stop his jerks, while he points his tongue and starts fucking him roughly. But when Ian changes his tactics and circles the the red hole with his flexible tip, Mickey gets on his hands and knees, pressing himself back even more.  
  
Ian has to laugh a little at that, making Mickey shiver when his breath fans over his wet skin, the feeling tickling the tensed man. He then goes back to work, sneaking his way back in, teasing Mickey on his inner walls. He is so tight, his warm walls engulfing his tongue so fucking perfectly, Ian's brain is ready to explode at the thought what this means for him later on. He needs to spread him some more, otherwise Mickey probably won't come once before Ian loses it.  
  
His long index finger presses against Mickey's perineum, before entering him slowly next to his tongue. That's when Mickey almost yells, his left hand reaching backwards and his fingers threading into Ian's black locks, pulling harshly. “Oh _fuck_!“  
  
Ian looks up, his tongue and finger swallowed in Mickey's ass, his pupils locking with Mickey's lustblown ones. They keep their eye contact while Mickey guides Ian's head back and forth, watching him with a desperate expression on his face. Between Mickey's thighs, Ian sees Mickey's wonderful dick twitching, a pearl of precum dropping down. When his gorgeous pillowy lips form into an “o“, his eyes squeeze shut and his brows knit in pleasure, Ian knows what is about to happen. He pushes a second finger inside and that's when Mickey starts spasming, shooting his load with a loud cry onto the sheets beneath him.  
  
Ian pulls his tongue out, his two fingers keep fucking him through his release. “One.“ he counts, savouring the sight of a blissful Mickey infront of him, while Mickey's fingers have some strains of his hair in a tight grip.  
  
Suddenly the brunet collapses forward and Ian's fingers slip out naturally. He watches Mickey fighting for air, his own cock aching badly for some sort of attention. Seems like he doesn't have to wait long, though. Mickey turns his face on one side, trying to catch Ian's eyes. “Fuck me.“ he pants, one hand reaching back to grab Ian's bare ass cheek and pull him forwards.  
  
So that's what he does. He guides his rock hard and leaking dick down to the still contracting muscles and glides the tip over it a few times, deepening the pressure on the hole ever he breaches it. It emits another almost inaudible curse from the man below.  
  
The blood rushes through Ian's veins and he for sure can't control himself any longer, even though he really likes to tease his man. But this needs to stop. The desire to be finally connected with him in this primal way is overshadowing every rational thought. He pushes in. Slowly, but steady, feeling the muscles around his length stretching and convulsing. “Fuck Mick,“ he whispers, hovering above his sweaty body as he penetrates him deeper and deeper until he's bottomed out, “Your ass is so warm.“  
  
A confident laugh breaks from his man, before Ian presses his whole weight onto him, his hands turning Mickey's head in the right angle to catch his lips in a lingering kiss. For a moment they don't move. They only feel the connection on every possible bodypart, enjoying the sensation, before Mickey breaths onto his swollen lips, “It's all for you.“  
  
And that's when Ian starts moving. His hips roll backwards, higher into the air, his dick almost slipping out, before he plunges back in, right onto that spot. Mickey's pupils roll backwards, a rasping sound leaving his throat. “God, Mickey,“ Ian praises, chasing this wonderful feeling of the tight and hot friction on his cock.   
  
He doesn't move away from Mickey, relieving him from his bodyweight, not even a bit. Their fingers interlace on the sides of Mickey's head to tight fists, only Ian's hips are moving back and forth, faster, deeper, heavier.  
  
His thrusts become so hard, that Mickey slides above the sheets along with his movements, his cock getting all the friction it needs. “Shit, Ian,“ he groans, their faces still so close to each other to absorb every single breath, “You feel so good in me. Holy fuck.“ Ian's world is spinning. He tries not to focus on the pleasure around his dick, otherwise he'd explode and Mickey would've only come once. So he focuses on Mickey and on the spot he jabs with every slam of his groin. “Keep fucking me like that. Yeah.“   
  
If Mickey's not cumming at any minute, Ian doubts he can keep fucking him like that. It's not gonna work for his dick to be gliding in and out into that wonderful hot walls and not gonna lose it. So he stops thrusting, pressing the tip of his cock on his sensitive prostate instead and starts drawing deep and slow circles with his hips.   
  
“ _Ian!“_ Mickey's voice is so high pitched now, Ian knows he's jabbing the fuck out of his special spot, “Keep... keep-“ he's sucking the air in, his mouth not able to function the way he obviously wants it to. Ian guesses it's a good sign, so he changes the direction of his rolling hips, never letting go on the right bundle of nerves, “Fuck, _yeah_ , keep doin' that.“ Ian wouldn't even change it if he would want to fuck into him again. Not when Mickey sounds so fucking fragile and needy. So close to his second release. Ian is high on endorphines, being this deep in the love of his life and being able to drive him fucking nuts. “Yeah. Right there, right there.“ Mickey pants faster, his ass now starting to wiggle and press tighter against him. Ian notices the tremble that runs through Mickey's body, when the smaller one stammers brokenly, “I'm gonna - gonna - _aaaaah_!“  
  
Mickey is shaking so hard, Ian lays his full bodyweight back onto him to help him controlling his motions. He himself is breathing deeply through his nostrils, his jaw is clenched to keep him from cumming, since Mickey's walls spasm again, this time around him, milking him closer to orgasm.   
  
“Two,“ he counts right into Mickey's ears, when latter only jerks uncontrollably a few more times, before seeming passed out under him. Ian knows, that _now_ Mickey finally came to ease with all the tension in his body. It's all out. But that's not enough for Ian. He wants more. Wants to bury him in oblivion. Wants himself to finally let go inside of his lover. “Got any more fuck left in you?“  
  
Ian didn't think Mickey would answer. Didn't think that he'd do more than laying passive there and let Ian do whatever he wants to his body. But as always, the brunet is full of surprises, grabbing around to stab against Ian's chest and pushing him out. “Yeah,“ he breaths exhausted, flapping on his back under Ian's body and pulling his face down for a soft kiss that Ian is glad to meet.  
  
While they make out genuinely, Ian's hips start moving again, his fully erect member sliding over Mickey's softening one. The cum on Mickey's stomach and dick making everything smoother and better. Ian can't help but moan into him. “I love you so fucking much, Mickey!“   
  
Blue stare deeply into green and Ian knows Mickey got the message. Finally knows, what he meant to Ian all years long. Every day and never less.   
  
“Lay down,“ Mickey instructs and pushes on his chest. In a second, the former redhead is on his back, the dark haired man straddling him.  
  
In an instant Ian's hands reach out. One goes directly on Mickey's bare ass, as if it's made for being there, slapping him again, encouraging him. The other one, reaches for Mick's half hard erection, stroking him softly. The brunet immediately trembles at the contact, his dick probably already overstimulated yet. But Ian made a promise. And he's going to stick to it.  
  
He strokes him softly and carefully, letting his lover get used to the friction again. Mickey is sitting directly on his length, Ian's cock fitting perfectly between the smaller one's ass cheeks along his rim. When Mickey moves above him, matching the slow strokes from Ian, the younger man gets eager to get back into him. He can't control his senses anymore, the desire to fill Mickey up overcoming him once again. “ _Mickey_ ,“ he begs, lifting the older one up by his ass, to indicate he's so fucking ready.  
  
Mickey's cock is already fully hard again in his tight grip. The weight and wettness in his hands doing nothing but turning him on more. When Mickey starts lifting himself up with his strong thighs, Ian pumps him a few more beats, until he can feel the convulsing hole on top of his leaking tip.   
  
Now the brunet is the one to tease him, since he only encircles Ian's already too sensitive head and hops on and off in slow movements. Ian's mind goes fuzzy. Not only is he ready for this release since he rimmed the perfect man, but this - Mickey riding Ian's tip in too fucking slow motions - adds just another 100% to the urge to finally let go in him. He wants Mickey to take it. To take all the load he has to give. Mark him. Claim him. That's what he's craving.  
  
But still - Mickey has to cum first. _For fuck's sake_. He should have thought that through first. That immense pleasure he has now to swallow down again, is building like a fire inside his body. He needs him now. Fast and hard.  
  
The hand on Mickey's cock reaches to the other one on his ass, and when the brunet is about to sink down just lightly again, Ian plunges him down and slams his hips up.  
  
Mickey lets out a deep moan at that, crashing forward and gripping Ian's nipples to give them a squeeze as prompt answer. While the former redhead yelps at that feeling, Mickey's eyes drift shut, his jaw falling open, the pants coming out ragged. The younger man sees he's struggling hard to adjust to the feeling of Ian nailing his worn out prostate again, even though his hips keep rocking back and forth on his lap. He looks so beautiful, so fucking perfect, Ian almost can't believe his eyes. Mickey's whole body is covered in sweat, his face completely flushed, his hair standing in various directions and his tongue always darting out to wet his lips.  
  
Ian meets Mickey with every slow thrust, making everything more intense for the both of them. He can feel his orgasm creeping on on him, urging him on to want more. Want more from Mickey. Needing to see him completely, when Mickey finds his last release.   
  
That's when he hears him whining softly, “I can't - _aah_.“  
  
“You _can_ ,“ Ian encourages him, one of his hands again reaching for Mickey's dick. He just wraps his fingers around, letting Mickey's rolling of hips decide the pace of the friction. “Please open your eyes for me, Mick.“  
  
But Mickey only sighs desperately, too worn out to answer. “Please Mickey. Let me see you.“  
  
The blue, lustblown eyes drag themselves open, bottom lip bitten between his teeth as he gazes down, right into Ian's green's. The light from outside is casting Mickey’s body in a haze, illuminating his features in a glow that would have taken Ian’s breath away if there's any more oxygen left in his lungs. “Such a good boy.“  
  
That's when Mickey keens and Ian feels him speeding up with his moves. God, he's so close, so painfully aware of the release that's gathering in his balls, ready to shoot out any second. But Mickey's not there yet. Shit, _fuck_! He has to keep himself together for a bit longer.   
  
His starts pumping Mickey with more fervor, his hips thrusting so deep and hard to that spot that makes Mickey helpless. He focuses on the brunet and definitely _not_ on the tight heat embracing and contracting around him. Even though Mickey's desperate features really don't help him calm down.

“ _Ian_ , _Ian_ , _Ian_...“ is the constant and quiet murmur that leaves Mickey's mouth.  
  
Shit. Ian will never understand how he survives moments like these, when they are so painfully fucking close and nothing else in the world matters. He’s so ready to keel over, to ride into oblivion together with his man.   
  
“Cum for me, Mickey.“ he begs, because the tingling from his gut is already spreading, “ _Please_ , cum for me now.“  
  
When Mickey's hands reach from Ian's nipples to his own asscheeks and starts spreading them, Ian is about to see stars. Now, he's definitely not going to last longer than a few more thrusts. Mickey needs to cum. Right about _now_!  
  
“Mick!“  
  
“Harder!“   
  
It's sounding like a cry, a helpless whimper from the man who holds his ass spread open for Ian to slam hard into him. Mickey's shivering thighs probably not able to hold his squat above Ian any longer. The younger man sees him fucking roughly into his hole, the sight one of the hottest fucking things he has ever laid eyes on. He already feels himself losing his control. “I can't. I'm gonna lose it!“ he pants, his balls already contracting. _Shit!_  
  
Their gazes lock and suddenly all the strain seems gone from Mickey's face. There's this twitching of his eyebrows and lips that Ian knows to decipher. He's close. Halleluja!  
  
“Fuck yeah.“ Mickey smirks, while Ian thrusts up, still at medium pace, his hand stroking Mickey faster. “Lose yourself in me, Ian. Need your fucking load.“   
  
Now it's Ian, who whines and shivers at the husky sound of his man's voice. He stops stroking his lover and grips his hips tight, his knees bending and feet pressing into the mattress for a better leverage. He starts drilling into him, hitting Mickey's prostate full force. His thrusts are brutally, but not less passionate or beautifully.  
  
Both of them moan faster and louder, as Ian does his last few jabs, because then he fucking finally lets go and loses it. Not able to control anymore if Mickey is already there with him.  
  
It hits him hard; it’s the kind where his vision blacks out around the edges, and he forgets where he is for a moment. His cum shoots through his dick like a burning fire stream, claiming Mickey's inner walls.  
  
“Jesus fuck, I feel it.“ the older man screams, as he holds himself above Ian a little longer, the younger man still thrusting haphazardly into him, “I fucking feel it. _Aaaaah_!“  
  
Ian forces himself to look away from his own dick that now glides wetly in and out of Mickey, and right onto his lover's perfect cock that starts twitching. For a short beat, Ian's eyes snap up to Mickey's face, searching for the signs that give him the feeling that he's also falling over the edge right now.  
  
And he's right. Mickey's eyebrows are knitted, sweat dripping, veins on his temple pulsing and even though his mouth hangs open, he stopped breathing.  
  
Ian has the feeling that another orgasm ripples through him at this sight. He for sure starts moaning again, speeding up one last time to guide Mickey through his spasms. “So hot,“ the black haired ginger praises, while white ribbons of cum shoot out of Mickey and onto his chest, “Holy _fuuuuuuck_!“  
  
Mickey is not able to respond, he just takes the last thrusts of Ian, while both sway in the blissful aftershocks, Mickey still not breathing.  
  
Only when Ian reaches his hands from Mickey's hips to his neck, the older man gasps for air, a cry falling out of his lips. Then he collapses onto Ian's chest and the younger one knows he's done. Completely and utterly brought back to his existence, connected with Ian in the most primal and beautiful way.   
  
In an instance, Ian wraps his hands around the brunets back and starts massaging the slack muscles underneath his moist skin. Soothing him. Reassuring him. Praising him. “You are so good to me, Mick. Did such a good job. Fuck!“ he whispers in his ears, before kissing the sweat from his neck. “That’s three.“  
  
There's nothing but trembling pants coming from Mickey, when Ian guides his dick slowly out and lays Mickey carefully on his back. The blue eyes are already closed, when Ian starts stroking his body.

While Mickey’s breath is slowly regulating back to normal and Ian thinks he might have already fallen asleep, he for sure can’t close his eyes even though he’s tired as fuck. But there’s so much beauty infront of him, and he drinks this sight in to remember it in his dreams.

“Why the fox, Mick?“ Ian asks quietly into the silence of the cell, tracing the lines of Mickey’s tattoo with his finger.  
  
The exhausted man takes a deep breath, mumbling with a sleepy voice. “Had a dream the other night about a red fox.“  
  
Since it seems that this is the only explanation Ian would get from his man, he frowns in confusion. "Huh? What does this has to do with me?“  
  
Mickey turns around from his already curled up position, giving the former redhead a little bit of a death glare for not letting him sleep after all the tall man did to him before. “Talked to me almost in the same annoying voice you always do.“  
  
Ian smirks. “And what did it say?“ his eyebrows climb up, wiggling playfully, “Talk dirty to you?“  
  
But Mickey seems too tired to laugh about that. “Warned me.“ he mutters.  
  
The answer doesn‘t satisfy Ian's craving to know more about it in any way. Instead it makes him even more curious. But since the beautiful blue eyes have already disappeared behind the heavy eyelids of his lover again, Ian tries to accept it and makes a mental note to ask tomorrow about it again, when suddenly the raw voice of Mickey continues to mumble into Ian’s chest. “I don’t remember what it said, I just remember it warning me with your voice about something.“ He takes another deep and steady breath, and Ian’s afraid he finally fell asleep, when the brunet speaks up again, “Googled it. Read that red foxes are spirit animals and cursed at myself for googling this shit, when suddenly something caught my attention.“  
  
The black haired ginger strokes Mickey’s back, focusing highly interested on his flow of words.  
  
“Seeing a fox in your dream indicates a period of isolation or loneliness. You need to take this time to reflect upon your life, as well as it tells you that you need to pay attention to people or circumstances that may be deceiving or tricking you into going down a path that isn’t good for you in any way. It tells you to look for any area of your life where you may be cunningly led to do something else than you would in all reason do. Use discernment in your choices and actions. Fox symbolism is a reminder that you have all the tools and resources you need to turn your life around for a better.“  
  
Ian doesn’t know if Mickey has ever said that much words to him in a row, which only indicates even more, how deep this dream about a red fox has touched him. The only thing that keeps bothering him is, what this all has to do with him? Why his name is included in the geometric lines of its head.  
  
But before he even has to ask, the brunet explains further, “It was about the same time your head popped up everywhere in the news. The annoying fox in my dream used your voice to tell me to get out of Héctor’s tight grasp as soon as possible, while at the same time your face showed me where I should be. I counted two and two together and made the decision that led me back to you.“  
  
“Wow, that’s –“ Ian sighs, not able to finish the sentence, because he was too stunned about the fact, that even the universe knew that they belonged together, “That’s –  _wow_!“  
  
Mickey huffs an almost inaudible laugh, still fighting his tiredness, “Yeah.“ He nuzzles his face even deeper into the warm skin of Ian’s chest, brushing his lips softly under his throat. “Also, foxes are clever,“ he starts kissing him along his collarbone, “cunning,“ underlining every quality with a kiss, “loyal,“ Ian’s heart speeds up, “flattering,“ he wanders down to his nipples, “strong,“ he nibbles at one of them, “elegant“ his tongue swipes flatly over the sensitive spot, making Ian tremble, “and fucking beautiful.“  
  
Ian’s eyelids flutter close, his heartbeat speeding up so fast at Mickey’s wonderful words and his tongue on his nipples. “Awww… Their characteristics remind you of me, Mick?“ he asks, already aroused again from hearing his man saying all these nice things about him.  
  
“ _No_.“ It’s like a slap in his face. His eyes fly back open, locking with the blue ones that are already back up on his eyelevel and shining with teasing affection, “Only thing you have in common with them is that you’re both playful and like balls.“  
  
With that, Mickey grabs Ian’s sack and squeezes it, drawing a painful howl and a laughter out from him. Ian uses all his power to push him back down, pinning him beneath his bodyweight and starts tickling him. “Oh, you’re going down!“  


"C'mere Army!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a journey! Thank you for sticking with me <3
> 
> Kudos and/or comments are highly appreciated.
> 
> All my love,  
> J.


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